#it's the age of information for gods sake. we can find alternatives

[discocandles]

•

#is there something i'm not getting about the boycotts? bc it's been kinda easy for me. #like the only one that's been difficult is google bc it's literally everywhere but i've been working to find other ways bc google sucks now #like you tell me that my money is going to something i don't support if i spend there? ok then i'll find somewhere else that does. #it's the age of information for gods sake. we can find alternatives #or just not spend money there and go to a grocery store they'll probs have something there #i've never really cared about eurovision so that's easy to ignore. i do like stranger things but i care about peoples lives more #and there are other things i can watch. it's not that big a sacrifice to me. #also i haven't had netflix since last march and i'm not getting it just for one show. i was tempted for dungeon meshi but still no #plus i can just read the manga. so how are people struggling with this? it feels easy to me #like just find other things or pirate if it's going to kill you to miss it

[gillianthecat]

well, i'm not really shocked about it, but my executive function basically collapses on saturdays. it would be nice if it didn't, but i'm also cutting myself some slack about it. i think my brain just needs at least one day a week to let go of all self discipline. it's inconvenient, but i'm hoping it will work as a pressure valve so i can stay on top of things the rest of the week.

i did not sleep at all last night and instead compulsively went through someone's tumblr blog looking for all the personal details of her life even though our interests don't really overlap because she's the same age as me, she posted actual photos of herself and family (which felt slightly shocking on this website, though i know she's not the only one by far) and there were hints that she lived in the same area as me (it turns out she does). that happens sometimes, I get fascinated by some random person's online presence and want to dig up all the details that i can about them. not because i necessarily find the person themselves that interesting, it's more about the hunt for snippets of information. And, like with this woman, it's often someone who is like me in a few ways, but otherwise very different, so it feels like a glimpse at the mundanities of an alternate life i might have lived, although don't actually want. I used to get my fix of the details of ordinary other people's lives from the blogs of adult ballet students and ballroom dancers, and the occasional organizing/interior design blog, but sadly long form blogging like that seems to have basically disappeared. I never regularly followed youtubers but occasionally fell down a rabbit hole and obsessively watched people's entire oeuvres in a ridiculous binge.

and then a random link on that first tumblr-er's blog led me to an article in a magazine that then suggested a second article that was so awful, written by someone who someone who styled themselves a "public intellectual" but was either so implausibly naive about reality that it boggled the mind, or cynically pretending to be naive for... stirring up controversy? pandering to white racists? who the fuck knows - that i felt compelled to find all the bad reviews talking shit about him, partly to reassure myself that i had not lost my grip on my reality, that it was this writer who was talking absolute nonsense, and partly just to enjoy other people tearing him to shreds. i even when to twitter, for gods sake (this is how we know my executive function is in shambles). i did find many people there destroying him, managed to avoid reading his own tweets or that of his supporters, and got off in under an hour, so as twitter forays go, it wasn't too dangerous.

last saturday's executive dysfunction all-nighter was mostly dedicated to aimless scrolling of tumblr corners that i don't usually visit, but there i also found someone who made no sense, and felt compelled to dig through there blog to see if learning more about them helped me understand what they were trying to say any better. it did not. their blog was mostly reblogs of random things, then them reblogging political/philosophical posts with incoherent but aggressive sounding arguments. i dug into the notes, because of course i did, and anyone who bothered to respond was like "i have no idea what you're trying to say so i'm not going to argue with you." i finally blocked them, just to stop myself from digging further.

mostly i'm writing this out in order to get back to my self; i feel like my sense of who i am and what i want gets lost as i go on this little explorations of other people's worlds. which i think is what i'm craving when i do it; to not have to be a coherent person for a little while. but if it goes on too long than i find it hard to become myself again, and all the tasks that have remained undone while i went away pile up and make me want to go back into hiding. but i am hopeful i've caught it in time that i can get back to being functional, and finish my homework and laundry and not start the week feeling so terribly behind.

the other reason for executive dysfunction is that i have a writing assignment (gasp!). it is a very small one—to write the introduction to our physiology lab report for my lab group—but i'm feeling very stuck about it. i think because i feel caught between wanting to make it sound like an introduction to an actual scientific paper and the reality that this is an intro level physiology lab that is not doing original research and that we came up with our hypotheses on the spot with little to back them up besides a gut feeling. so i think i just have to get over wanting to write a "good" introduction, and just bullshit something. (this is why i'm taking science classes. i get so stuck on doing academic writing. it took me an extra two years to turn in my undergrad thesis even after i finished all my coursework.)

here's a picture being the "subject" for my physio lab and looking like i'm about to get a jump start.

well. i could ramble on forever. but i will try to take this momentum i've rebuilt and go get things done.

(it would have been nice if my complete collapse of will power had led me to catch up on QL shows instead, but alas, that is now too close to things i "should" do, even though i love them. my brain seems to only accept complete and absolute time wasting.)

#my ramblings #living with adhd #will i ever write about ql again? #i hope so but i don't make any promises #i didn't put this below a cut but hopefully y'all have 'shorten long posts' enabled #if you don't and want to know how to do it feel free to ask me #no [editing] we die like men #gillianthecat goes back to school #this is basically a diary entry #sometimes my brain is weird #gillianthecat's life #about gillianthecat #photos of objects irl #from my lab bench

[hardskz]

bow down.

pairing — bang chan x genderneutral! reader

genre — modern royalty au, drama-ish, smut; sexual tension-ish, hand kink, brat tamer! chan, degradation, leg humping, humiliation

synopsis — you have eyes. prince bang chan is a whole snack. but you also have too high of an ego and can’t seem to accept that prince chan isn’t full of himself unlike the other dozen members of any royal family you’ve met before. alternatively, this is the disney channel movie ‘princess protection program’ but make it porn only.

note — this fic with a wc of 7k+ does not include any spoilers to the movie and you don’t even have to know what the movie is about you’ll get the gist as you read. ngl half of this is from one of my drafts from like 3 years ago and i never continued it so here i am turning it into filth hahahah (and i needed a fresh idea for brat tamer chan and hence why i think the sfw part is better written than the nsfw lmao) rip also pls accept this as the follower milestone gift and 1 year anniversary special :’)

“I’m pretty sure I asked for a puppy for my birthday — which was three months ago may I add — not for a new roommate?”

You look back and forth between Youngjae and the stranger sitting on the couch who is staring back at you with a curious expression. He looks around your age and you admit, his face isn’t the kind of face that makes you thank your parents that genetics did a decent job on you. It’s quite the opposite, actually.

His face is the type of face that makes you ask your parents why genetics didn’t do a better job on yours. Okay, you haven’t reached that stage of visual inferiority yet but that’s mainly because he is dressed in clothes that were trendy in the 15th century or something. The garments clinging to his skin look like a bad fusion of a suit (which college student wears a suit in their free time?) and the ridiculous costume the marching band at your former high school had worn whenever a football game was up. And those weird golden pins clipped on the blazer makes it seem as if he used to be in the marines or comes from a royal bloodline or—

Oh. 

“Don’t mind my cousin, your Highness. (y/n)’s humor has always been questionable.”  Youngjae sends you a glare before he puts on his sweetest smile — you know, the act he puts on whenever he tries to negotiate a bonus with his boss or woo his date — and opts to ignore your presence. “Anyway, since we are dealing with a more serious issue at hand than originally expected, we need to give you a makeover to—“

Before he gets to finish his sentence, you violently tug him away from the prince and despite Youngjae thrashing around and complaining, you manage to send the guest a forced smile and leave his vision. The moment you let go of Youngjae in the neighboring room, he readjusts his collar. “What? Couldn’t you have waited once I was done? Also, was it necessary to crinkle my collar this much?” he hisses but you get straight to the point.

“What is he doing here?”

“Uh, sitting on the couch?”

“That’s not what I mean.” you grit your teeth and land a punch on his arm. “What is he doing here?”

Youngjae looks over your shoulder, making sure that what he’s about to say next is only heard by you. “Prince Chan is,” he hesitates, unsure how to approach his topic. You know it’s taking up his last nerves to conclude a logical explanation as the tip of his tongue pokes out of the corner of his lips; a habit he has adapted ever since he stopped chewing on his bottom lip. “The predicament he’s in is worse than we expected. Well, his dad is partially at fault because he forgot to tell us this not-so-small critical detail that—“

“Youngjae, you’re rambling.”

“The point is.” he sighs and gives you a distressed look as if he already knows you’re not going to like the information at all. “We can’t send him to the family in Goyang, the place he was originally going to stay in. He’s one of the more extreme cases and the Board agreed that he had to live with one of the active combatants to ensure his safety.”

Silence engulfs the kitchen and you know he’s waiting for you to count two and two together.

“He’s going to live here,” you deadpan eventually and Youngjae nods in confirmation.

“I know you’re not very happy—“

“Not very happy is underwhelming.” You earn a flick against your forehead and yelp in pain as you over the spot he just hit. “Ow! I was just stating the truth!”

“Will you stop interrupting me? Geez. Yes, I know that you’re not happy at all. I know that you’re not a huge fan of the majority of our family working in this business. But please do me this one favor or so help me God— try to be nice to him for the next year.”

“He’s staying for a year?” you shriek and in the blink of an eye, Youngjae clamps your mouth shut.

“Can you keep it down?!” he whisper-yells, then retreats his hand and reverts to a conversational tone with a frown. “It’s just a year, okay? Y’know, just... say hi to him whenever you see him. Act civilized.”

You grimace as he stresses his last words like you didn’t know what human decency was. The longer you keep the petrified expression on your face, the more it turns into a staring contest between the two of you. Just as if you were each other’s reflection, you mimic his actions and vice versa. When Youngjae squints, you squint. When you shoot him a glare, he returns it. It all boils down to the final blink that Youngjae feints and you’re the first to look away.

“Okay fine! I’ll try to behave,” you mumble in defeat.

A satisfied smile makes its way on Youngjae’s lips. “It’s always nice negotiating with you.”

Being born into a family where the majority works for the royalty protection program (short: RPP or as you like to stylize it: argh-pee-pee), also known as the secret service for people with crowns on their heads, comes with many perks. In your eyes, this privilege comes with many, many downsides that aren’t worth the advantages. Sure, there is the one or other occasion where you can waltz around in fancy evening attire and attend an actual ball, but overall, it’s a pain in the ass.

Even though it’s prohibited to openly declare that you work for the RPP, the news always finds its way out. Usually, it takes approximately a week for pretty much half of the neighborhood to find out. And it certainly isn’t nice hearing whispers about your dad being that guy working for the program whenever you step out of your house, which is ultimately why you moved in with your cousin Youngjae. (Housing in your small town wasn’t really affordable for a dirt poor college student after all!)

Youngjae has always been your favorite cousin out of the... whatever number of cousins you have. But here’s the thing. He also works for the RPP.

However, somehow he managed to — and up to this day it still remains a mystery to you how on earth he did that — keep his job a secret. Especially with his tendency to dish out the worst kinds of secrets when he’s slightly tipsy. Frankly, you once considered printing out the image of a trophy for that remarkable feat.

With your dad and cousin both active in that business (because organization sounds too shady), it’s not the first time you meet a prince, so you already know how the entire thing works. The concept is quite simple; they get sent to a household but before they settle in and take on a fake identity until their circumstances have improved, they undergo a makeover. Most of the time, it ends up in the glow up you secretly crave but in Prince Chan’s case, you suppose he can’t get any more attractive.

Oh boy. You’re in for a ride.

You’re busy slicing bell peppers for the meal you were cooking when both your cousin and the prince enter the kitchen and Youngjae explicitly demands you to pay them attention. You don’t react immediately, but the moment he threatens to swipe the knife away from you, you perk up and set your desire to prepare your fried rice aside.

“(y/n), uh, hi? I’m Bang Chan and I’ll be your new housemate for a year. I hope we can get along.” Chan recites his introduction without any mistakes and earns a way too brotherly pat on the back from Youngjae, considering that they just met this morning. It’s truly amazing how fast Youngjae can get people to warm up to him. 

Chan is stripped out of his weird clothes and instead, looks like he threw on the next best thing lying around in his room. Nonetheless, despite the seemingly little effort that was put into the outfit, it looks oddly good. The stylists didn’t seem to do much to his hair and just parted his bangs a little, so one could catch a slight glimpse of his forehead. It’s just a small detail, but you find yourself liking his current appearance much more appealing than before, though you’re pretty sure his clothes played a major part in your previous distaste. 

“Remember Jihyo?” Youngjae interrupts your train of thought. “She’s Chan’s relative. And because I’m the genuine friend who loves to help her out, I decided to agree to this after she went down on her knees and begged me to let Chan live with us for a while—“

“I’m not interested in your blown up, fictional background stories, thank you very much.” you backtrack. “Wait. Did you say Jihyo? Seriously? Jihyo is his alibi?” Of course, you remember Jihyo. It’s quite difficult to forget her when Youngjae used to swoon about her at every hour of the day, back when they were a thing. Besides, she still stops by every few months.

“C’mon, you have to admit there is a similar vibe between them!” 

You furrow your brows and inspect Chan a second time. Your gaze wanders back to Youngjae and then returns to Chan anew. It’s obvious that the latter is feeling as if he were up for auction and you can’t really blame him for feeling so uncomfortable. You’ve heard from a few friends that if looks could kill, you’d have the highest killing record. 

There’s no similar vibe in your view, but for the sake of entertaining Youngjae’s thoughts: “He does seem similar to Jihyo.”

“Told ya. But back to more important matters,” Youngjae coughs and wraps his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer, but it somehow seems as if he’s opting to strangle you. “My duties are calling, so I won’t be back until late. You look like you could need some help with cooking, by the way. I’m sure Chan right here is willing to help you!”

“I’m almost done though—“ you choke when he tightens his embrace. By now, his arm is no longer hugging your shoulder, but rather crushing your throat.

“You look like you could need some help,” he repeats, this time with added urgency. “It’d be a great opportunity for you to bond since you’ll also share pretty much all classes at uni. Did you know, he has the same major as you! Besides, it’d be a very useful life experience for him if he helped you with cooking.”

“Of course, how fun!” you hiss, voice going an octave higher from the lack of oxygen. “I already said that I’m painfully delighted about that, so you can let me go now, Youngjae!”

A sneer and a jab in his arm later, Youngjae finally takes his leave. That nasty liar, leaving an hour earlier than his schedule stated. You know that silently cursing at him isn’t going to make your problems dissolve because that’d be a dream come true.

“Listen, let me get things straight.” you sigh, picking up the knife to resume chopping your vegetables. Youngjae may have ordered you to act civilized, but having eye contact with Chan when you’ve been starving for the past hour isn’t your priority. Food doesn’t make itself. “I don’t have any intention of getting close to you and I expect the same from you. Don’t step a foot into my room, don’t talk to me unless absolutely necessary, and don’t think I’ll run around and do your chores or cook your meals like one of your little servants. Just because you’re a prince doesn’t mean you’ll be treated like one under this roof.”

“We live in the 21st century, not the renaissance. Your idea of royal families is very dated.” Chan chuckles dryly.

“Baron Yoon Jeonghan from the seven islands is a stuck-up prick and out of touch with the world. It took him several visits to the slums, multiple voluntary hours at the kindergarten, and stripping him off his bank card to make him see reason,” you deadpan. Fuck Baron Jeonghan. Just thinking about your first and last encounter with that entitled douchebag almost makes you slice your finger instead of the bell pepper. “Duchess Yoo Shiah threw a hissy fit when she found out her clothes weren’t dry cleaned and bought from Zara instead of fucking Dior. The one who takes the cake when it comes to privilege is Princess Kim Min—”

“Everyone knows they are problematic,” Chan interjects. True, he has a point. There’s nobody out there who doesn’t know about Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah but he’s also missing the entire point.

“And guess who gets stuck under the care of the RPP?” you raise a brow at him. He blanches at the realization as if he got struck with lightning. Perhaps you should give him more credit because he seems to own more brain cells than Baron Jeonghan. “Exactly. Everyone problematic.” 

Chan’s jaw is clenched as he racks his brain to come up with a smart comeback. The sight of him stumbling on his words is nothing but pitiful, so you turn back to the cutting board and grab an onion to slice in half. “I’m not interested in your sob story, your Highness. I don’t care why you’re under the protection of the RPP. The only thing I care about is that you stay out of my business.”

“Chan is fine. No need for the title,” he sighs with a strain. “Perhaps I should’ve been more considerate with my first comment. Youngjae already told me about your… negative attitude towards the entire setup. It wasn’t my intention to anger you. Sorry.”

Well, that’s new. Out of the dozens of aristocrats you’ve met (and sadly also shared a house with back when you were 16 years old and still living with your dad), he’s the first to drop his title within five minutes for the sake of the disguise and apologize. 

“We live under the same roof so we should get along with each other. If there’s something you need help with, just ask me, (y/n).”

“Thanks for the offer,” you reply nonchalantly because act civilized unless you want to suffer from a late-night sneak attack from Youngjae if he finds out. “But no thanks. I don’t need your help.”

You find yourself in need of help a few weeks later, right before the dreaded exam season.

“No. Forget it, Bam. I’m not going out clubbing with you tonight. In fact, I won’t do that anytime soon.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you try to break down to your friend that you prioritize your grades over his need of getting wasted.

“C’mon!” he whines so loudly that you have to put your phone farther away from your ear. “You’re not in that much stress yet! You have to make the most out of it before you drown in your exams.”

“Things are different for engineering students like, uh, me for example!” you hiss. “I fell behind and need to catch up. Ask Yugyeom or Changbin.”

“First of all, Yugyeom is always at the bar doing his job. And Changbin never picks up his phone. There’s nobody who’d dance with me!”

“You abandoned me at the bar for some chick the last time,” you deadpan. “I’m very sure you’ll find someone.”

Bambam finally gets the gist and gives up. “Fine then. Your loss. Have fun dying in numbers and variables instead of living in the moment. You’re going to regret it—”

You end the call and set your phone on mute before throwing it on the bed. Sometimes you wonder whether you were on drugs when you decided to major in engineering. The longer you stare at the jumble of numbers and letters — some of them in Greek too — the more you think your brain cells are decaying.

That’s how you find yourself in the kitchen, complaining at Youngjae’s expense and telling him how much you’d rather drown in bleach than subjecting yourself to Algebra II. 

“You know there’s someone you can ask for help and he’s right here,” Youngjae drawls before chugging down the rest of his beer. If he’s going to be a victim to your temper tantrum about a major that you chose yourself, he might as well get a drink so he won’t go insane from your monologue about numbers and graphs and formulas he’s forgotten since he graduated from high school.

You gawk at him. “You? Are you hearing yourself? You almost failed maths. Twice!”

“Because I didn’t mean myself, dipshit,” he says blankly and his eyes flit over your shoulder, “Speaking of the devil. There comes the man of honor.”

You whip your head back to the door to see Chan enter confusedly. “Uh, did I interrupt something?”

“Yes.”

“No, we were just talking about you!”

You send Youngjae a death glare which he casually shrugs off. “(y/n) here is bitching about her Statistics I class and needs a tutor!”

“It’s actually Algebra II if you bothered to pay attention—”

“(y/n) needs a tutor!” Youngjae exclaims and nearly trips on his feet when he gets up from his chair. “Channie, I heard you’re good with numbers. Didn’t you get accepted into all Ivy Leagues in the States for all engineering programs?”

“You didn’t have to word it like that,” Chan laughs it off and nervously rubs the back of his head. He’s not denying it though.

“Obviously he would. He’s loaded and lives in a castle,” you mutter under your breath, but everyone catches it.

“Hey,” Youngjae warns. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s alright,” Chan says casually. “I just wanted to get myself a snack. But if you have some questions, don’t hesitate to knock on my door. The offer still stands, y’know.” He digs through the cabinet until he finds two packs of the strawberry flavored Pocky knockoff that is 1) apparently his favorite thing to eat and 2) half the price of the Pocky version. He gives Youngjae a thumbs up before he returns to his room.

The moment Chan is out of sight, Youngjae whips his head to you, nostrils flaring. All that’s missing is steam coming out of his ears and his face running red and then he looks like the impetuous brother in every kids cartoon ever. “Really? He’s been staying with us for how long now? Four weeks? Five? Yet you’re still acting as if he murdered you in your dreams or something.”

“I don’t like him,” you state coldly. Youngjae looks like he’s about to rip his hair out.

“Look, I get that you don’t like me being active in this field of work, and I get that you have some hatred against the royal families. But you know you signed up for this when you decided to move in with me.” Youngjae pauses to get a breather and pop a new beer bottle open. “Besides, Chan isn’t like Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah. I have eyes, (y/n), and I’ve seen you two avoiding each other as much as possible. And he doesn’t just laze around — he does the fucking chores and cooks dinner too! Chan is good, (y/n).”

The last words make you snap. “Good? Are you fucking serious? Because that’s why the press in his kingdom is depicting him as a tyrant who cares more about building his sick harem instead of helping the poor. And wasn’t he diagnosed for having anger management issues?!”

All the color leaves Youngjae’s face. This is obviously something you shouldn’t know. While he’s scrambling for words, you take the chance to add, “Dunno why you’re protecting him when he’s making headlines as a prince who can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Chan isn’t just a prince,” Youngjae says quietly. “He’s the crown prince.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. “What? Isn’t that even worse with that reputation he has?”

“It’s all propaganda,” he sighs and takes a swig, “The ministers are doing everything they can to finish him off. You see, Chan is the only child of the current king of the seven islands, and if he’s wiped out, it’ll be utter chaos. Chan’s smart and I admit, he used to have anger issues, but he’s worked on them. Though I guess he’s resorted to bottling up his feelings when push comes to pull. The point is, all the higher-ups don’t want him as their future king because they know that Chan is very much capable of pulling through with his own ideas and that doesn’t sit well with them. And a supposedly impulsive future king is the last thing anyone wants, hence why his people are eating up the news.”

“Oh.” you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. However, it’s not the first time you’ve heard such stories. 

“Yeah. Oh,” Youngjae mocks, “If that’s the main reason why you don’t want to talk to him, now you know better. He might have power, but he’s not a monster. And for the record, he got into all Ivy Leagues and elite schools all over the world through his intelligence, not his status.”

Although you can see it in his eyes that Youngjae is done with the heated discussion, he’s still waiting for you to say something. You frown. “So… you think he’s a good tutor?”

“He’s your only shot.” Youngjae says nonchalantly, then adds with a warning tone, “But remember: Act. Civilized. Oh, and don’t tell him I told you about his circumstances. It’s supposed to be confidential information.”

You roll your eyes. How the fuck hasn’t Youngjae been busted yet?

Nonetheless, you’re trudging to Chan’s door a few minutes later, your fat binder of incomprehensible math formulas and (Greek) letter heavy in your arm. Chan opens the door with surprise etched on his face after you knocked, but it settles to warmth when you begrudgingly ask him to help you understand Algebra II. 

“Sorry, it’s a little messy here,” he chuckles airily once he lets you in. It’s not messy per se, just a few clothes piled up in a corner of the room and some books and messily written notes lying on his bed. Still, it’s by far cleaner than the pig stall that is Youngjae’s room (and yours when you’re having a very bad day).

Chan clears his desk and drags his other chair to the table before plopping down on it. “So, what’s the problem?” Instead of answering, you just shove a sheet of paper up his face. “Y’know, you can talk to me. If this is about earlier, it’s really alright. I’m not mad or anything,” he says with the same friendly tone you’ve been hearing ever since he moved in, yet he still takes the sheet from you. You watch his brows scrunch together the more he reads on, and you can already see the question forming in his mind.

“(y/n), you do know this is the basis to understand—”

“I was absent when the professor covered it and everyone I asked couldn’t quite explain it to me,” you respond before he can finish speaking out his thoughts. “All my friends were like—” you gesture with your hands, “—you just do this and that and then hope your hunch is right. Before you say it, yes I know that I don’t get the material of one entire unit and the exam is two weeks away.”

“Then let’s not waste any time,” Chan says before grabbing his iPad. You stare at him blankly as he writes something on his tablet. The last thing you expected from him was to accept it and try to hammer as much of missing information as he can into your brain, but then again, you’ve never seen him backtrack whenever Youngjae asks him something. Speaking of Youngjae, perhaps he is right. Chan does seem to know what he’s talking about.

“You have to subtract X first, then replace it with Y,” he explains as he circles said letters in different colors. By now, you’ve leaned closer to him to get a better view on what he’s writing (his handwriting isn’t the worst you’ve ever had to decode; refer to Youngjae who you’ve internally awarded with the worst handwriting of the decade). 

Chan is exceptionally good at explaining. You feel like you’ve figured out a secret of the world that not even Pythagoras found out as you slowly understand what on Earth you are supposed to calculate with the formula. Chan is patient, always asking if you got it or if you needed another clarification, and takes the time to draw colorful graphs to visualize the jumble of numbers. His voice is pleasing to the ear too, soft and gentle to the point where you’ve blurred everything out except Chan. Chan’s voice. Chan’s hand.

You didn’t mean to stare, but with him always adding something new every five seconds as he goes on with his monologue, you can’t help but do so. His fingers aren’t long — that’ll always be courtesy of Hyunjin from Subway and yes, his very pretty hands might be the sole reason you only insist on going to that one specific Subway at the intersection next to KFC — but just one glance at Chan’s hand and you know that he’s strong. 

He’s barely applying pressure to the pen, but you can see the veins slightly protruding. Chan’s sleeves are pushed back and if you move your head a bit, you’re more than certain that veins are bulging out from his forearms too. However, you don’t muster up the courage to do that because Chan will definitely notice and the last thing you want on your platter is to tell him that you were too busy checking out his arms instead of listening to him talk about Algebra II.

Eventually, Chan sets the pen down to stretch his hand. He says something, but you don’t pick up what exactly. Not that it’d matter much anyway since you’re too busy admiring his hand—

“(y/n), you there? I called out your name several times but you didn’t react.” Chan’s breath hitches and surprise flashes in his eyes for a split second when his gaze meets yours. You don’t understand his hesitation, but then horror bubbles in you once you realize that his hand is firmly gripping your chin and keeping your head pointed at his direction. The very same hand you’ve been staring at for God knows how long. 

“I’m good. Just a little tired, but I’m good,” you stutter, though it comes out very breathlessly as if you just finished a marathon.

“Tired?” Chan echoes, concern settling into his features. “You should’ve said so, then I would’ve stopped talking. You need something?”

Now that you think about it, you’ve never got a close look at Chan. Sure, he’s handsome, the countless pictures of Google prove that he’s also too photogenic for his own good (goddamnit, why didn’t your parents make you just as photogenic?) but in person, he’s something else. His lips are plush and look very inviting to kiss, and the lower your eyes wander, the more you see a toned chest hidden underneath that damn shit that hugs him in all the right places.

Fine, his hands aren’t the only attractive thing about him. Then again, he’s a prince.

“I said I’m good.” you snap out of your thoughts and finally gather enough control over your nerves to tear his hand away. “And I caught everything you said.” Of course, you know that’s a blatant lie and he knows so too from the way he’s looking at you. That is until he quirks a brow.

“Okay, then what did I say before I called you?”

Your mouth feels dry. It’s almost as if he knew the reason for your distress. “I caught everything relevant to this,” you mutter, suddenly finding his curtains much more interesting. What an interesting design, maybe you should get yourself new curtains too—

“Then you wouldn’t mind solving these questions, right? Just so I can make sure that you got everything down.”

“Sure,” you reply because that’s the only thing you could say without hurting your ego and straining your vocal cords. Chan doesn’t comment any further and looks for some practice questions before sliding the iPad to you. Already the first question makes your head spin in disdain. Numbers? Variables? Never heard of them.

Chan is watching you like a hawk as you fiddle with the pen, unable to write down anything that makes remote sense. Feeling his eyes on you makes you feel helpless and you shift around in your seat. “What are you staring at?” you glare at him once you give up for good, and you just hope that your look is as intimidating as you pictured in your head.

“You’re definitely exhausted. You’re shaking,” Chan points out. Your eyes widen as you stare down and realize that your thighs are shaking, and it’s then and there when you realize that you’re feeling hot. Seems like Chan doesn’t realize that because the worry written on his face is genuine. “You say the exam’s in two weeks right? We can stop for today and work on this tomorrow. That is if you still want my help.”

You nod and add in a tiny voice, “Yes, please.”

You’re too busy ignoring the heat building between your thighs to notice the borderline feral sound that leaves Chan.

“And here I thought you had quality bonding time.” Youngjae gives a disappointed look. “You’re acting even colder towards him than before your exam meltdown. Your prick level can only stoop down so low.”

You ended up getting tutor lessons from Chan every day before the dreaded day of judgment: the exam in Algebra II. You spent more hours in his room than on your own if you were completely honest, and the results were fruitful. While you did manage to pass the exam with a fairly high score, the price you had to pay was hell.

It’s almost as if Chan caught up on your hand fixation. Sometimes he twirled the pen in his fingers, sometimes it was the simple bracelet dangling on his wrist. Just when you thought he had you figured out, he asks you if you’re alright, visibly oblivious to his effect on you. Such duality in a person should be illegal, you conclude. If you die from whiplash, you know who the perpetrator is.

“You were the one who pretty much pressured me into asking him for help,” you drawl.

“I had good intentions only! You can’t keep up the I-hate-royal-families-blah-blah mentality the entire time!” Youngjae wails before stuffing a handful of chips in his mouth.

“Watch me.” You internally cringe at the loud crunching sounds he’s making and add vigorously, “And stop chewing so loudly.”

“You’ll get around or so help me God—” he groans when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t spare a glance at the caller ID because there’s only one person who has set his ringtone to the baby shark song specifically for when he’s calling. “I gotta go, Jinyoung’s being a bitch again. Don’t murder somebody. Thanks.” You only watch him shuffle for his bag and grab a handful of chips before he’s out the door. Groaning, you clean up the mess he’s made on the table. 

Just as you’re done wiping the crumbs off the surface, Chan pads into the room. 

“Hey, can we talk?”

“I established right at the beginning that you should only talk to me when absolutely necessary.” you scowl, trying to walk past him.

“Well, this is important,” he urges and blocks the doorway, effectively stopping you from fleeing. “And I do deserve one conversation with you after I helped you out.”

“You offered on your own. That’s not the same as asking for a favor.” You successfully push your way past him, but in the next moment, he spins you around and pins you against the wall. 

“We’re going to talk, whether you like it or not.” The sudden coldness of his tone has shivers running down your spine. Chan holds your wrist in an iron grip and if he clutched on any tighter, you wouldn’t put it past him to break your bones. Out of options, you comply and give him a curt nod before he lets go and takes a step back. 

“I don’t understand you, (y/n). I genuinely thought you would put your prejudices aside but instead, all I get are mixed signals from you.”

It’s your turn to gawk. “Me? Mixed signals? What are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about how you keep looking at me as if you want me to fuck your brains out.” If the color hasn’t drained from your face yet, it has now. Chan smiles wickedly at your horrified reaction but doesn’t stop there. “I’m talking about how you talk like you don’t want anything to do with me but act as if you’re begging for my attention.” He takes a step closer to you, and you wish you could morph with the wall. “I’m talking about how you keep staring at my hands and think I don’t notice it.” You wince when he rests his hands against the wall on each side of your face, leaning closer so that you can feel his breath on your lips. “So, you have a thing for my hands?” Bullseye.

“You’re so full of yourself. No wonder your ministers want to get rid of you,” you snap because you’d rather suffer from food poisoning than admitting that you want Chan’s fingers in you.

Something shifts within Chan. He gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to even know about the ministers. His demeanor darkens in a blink of an eye, and you feel like your legs are about to give up on you when you meet his eyes, black and feral.

“You’re playing with fire. Don’t anger me,” he warns, voice low and rough.

“So it’s true that you resorted to bottling up your feelings, your Highness?” you cock your head to the side. Chan clenches his jaw at the mention of his title, struggling to keep his anger in check. You laugh through your nose, then grab one of his hands and force it away from the wall. If he already knows that you’re thirsting after him, might as well go for it. “It’s funny how your ministers aren’t able to string you around like a puppet yet here you are, unable to do anything against a commoner. You know you have nice hands and you know my weakness and yet, you’re not using them on me.” He gulps when you fumble with his fingers. 

And then he understands.

“Unless I misread the situation,” he says darkly, though you distinguish the slight tremor his voice carries. “Do you really want this? I’m not going to go easy on you.” Chan is dead serious, judging by the way he’s looking at you expectantly. 

“The safe word is petunia.” You don’t take your eyes off him and add in a louder tone, “Now try me, do your worst.”

“You’re going to regret wanting me at my worst,” Chan growls and before you know it, he crashes his lips against yours. The kiss is anything but sweet, more of a clash of teeth and tongues and saliva dribbling down your chins, yet it leaves you boiling hot and wobbly on your feet. He presses you up against the wall and forces his leg between yours, the sudden contact making you hunch forward. You moan against his mouth when he tugs harshly on your hair, the sting making your nerves go haywire. In the meantime, your hands roam his upper body, blunt nails digging into his shoulders as you try to buck your hips against his leg. While he doesn’t budge, you manage to elicit a groan out of him.

When you pull away, you’re both gasping for air. Chan’s hair is disheveled from the way you’ve been pulling on them, lips pink and glossy. One look in his eyes is enough to make your heart stop beating. They’re dark and animalistic and set ablaze with unfiltered lust. You’re such in a daze from a simple kiss that you nearly stumble when Chan drags you to his room.

He manhandles you on his bed with ease before his lips latch on yours once more. You nearly sob when he rids you off your pants, putting pressure in all the right places to have you losing your mind. As you’re about to gain back some dominance in the kiss, he breaks it off. His fingers that were once ghosting over your underwear are now tracing patterns all over the material, making you spasm. “You’re such a brat, all bark but no bite. All it takes is one kiss and you’ve lost all your fight. Can you get any more pathetic?” he mocks as he focuses his fingertips directly on the wet patch of your underwear. Your eyes roll back as he rubs on the same spot, the broken moans leaving you eerily similar to cries. “Don’t tell me you’re about to come like this. How sensitive are you?”

“Am n-not—” you cut yourself off with a whimper when he lets the waistband snap against your skin.

“Yeah, you sure about that?” he grins and that’s when you break, feeling your high approaching at lightning speed. 

“Don’t wanna come like this—” 

“But I thought you’re not sensitive?” the satisfied grin just widens with every syllable that leaves his lips. “If you don’t want to come like this, all over your underwear, beg.” 

Chan applies even more force to your sensitive spots, and you struggle to have a clear thought. The smirk he delivers is lethal, and you couldn’t be any more convinced that he’s the devil’s incarnate.

“I’ll do anything, please. Don’t let me come like this, that’s all I’m a-aah-asking for,” you weep, your blood nearly boiling at its climax, “I’ll even take a punishment!”

“Say my name,” he orders, fingers still drawing circles.

“Your—”

“My name, not my title.”

Your breath hitches as you finally realize what he’s aiming for. He wants you to remember that it’s him who’s reducing you into this illiterate mess. Him, the one you’ve been despising since before you even met. If you still had any ounce of dignity left, you’d try to fix the power imbalance until you’re left with no choice but to obey, but now you’re so close and the last thing you want to do is come with your pants on.

“Please, Chan,” your voice breaks towards the end and in an instant, he pulls away. As you’re letting you’re basking in the break from his brutal tempo, not too affected by how your upcoming orgasm is fading away, Chan observes you.

And then out of nowhere, he flips you on your stomach and delivers a hard smack to your ass that has you screaming into the pillows.

“You said you’d take any punishment too, right?” You twitch as he rubs the small of your back. You can already imagine the handprints on your ass he continued to slap you with such force that has you moving up the bed. The pain that’s going to haunt you for days. Before you know it, you try to arch your back to lift your ass, but then the bed shifts. “But if you really think I’m going to spank you as a punishment, then you’re really fucking dumb. As if I’ll use my hands on you when we both know you love my hands.”

With that, he drops himself on his chair, spreading his legs that you can see the prominent tent forming in his pants. He orders you over with a flick of his finger, and just as you get up from the bed, a new wave of horror flushes over you.

“Crawl.”

The look you send him is priceless. There’s no fucking way you can do it. It’s just a few meters, nothing you can’t handle, but he’s there sitting on his Ikea swivel chair as if it’s his throne made of gold, watching your every movement like a predator. And then there’s you, only in a shirt and underwear, being forced to go on all fours as if you were his fucking dog—

The difference in power display couldn’t get any more visible. He really is the fucking worst.

“You’d really do anything, huh…” he muses as you drop on your hands and knees and crawl to him, never looking up. It’s only when he beckons you to stand up that you look at him with nothing but rage and shame in your eyes. Chan has always been slightly terrified with your death stare but right now, he can’t take it seriously and it shows. It shows in the way he smiles lopsidedly, in the way his brows quirk in amusement. “Now hump my leg.”

Humiliation runs through your body all over. Your fists are clenched as he waits for you to act, even pats his thigh in case you didn’t get the memo. But oh you do, and his thigh does look inviting.

“Hump my leg like the brainless bitch you are. If you want my hands or my cock, you earn it first. Especially since you treated me like shit ever since I moved in.” The last sentence burns you badly because he has a point. But then there’s the prospect of his hands and dick that’s bulging out of his pants. 

Pushing all thoughts away, you settle on his leg. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you tell yourself it’s all good and then you move. The first thrust knocks all air out of your lungs and you grab onto his shoulders for support. You didn’t even move that much, but Chan’s looking at you as if he’s about to fucking devour you and knowing that he is very much capable of moving you around, you’re starting to become overwhelmed.

Eventually, you lose yourself in the feeling of his rough jeans against your drenched underwear, humping on his thigh as your orgasm builds up. It’s silent, save for your pants, and the countless whimpers flying past your lips as your movements gradually become sloppier. You’re almost there and you know it. But so does Chan, and the moment he’s got it figured out, he lunges from your hips and forces you to pick up the pace. 

“Oh no, you’re going to come,” he growls, ignoring your pleas and sobs. Adrenaline courses in your blood and you know it isn’t long until you fall apart. You try to make him stop, even put your hands on his, but you don’t have the energy to actively push him away.

“Chan, please— I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna come? Then fucking come on my thigh, (y/n),” he snaps, and then adds, “You hear that? You’re about to come from humping my thigh.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he’s right, maybe it’s the way he’s worded it. Either way, it’s the last straw to make you spasm as you come, soaking your underwear and even managing to make a mess out of his pants. Chan makes sure you ride through your orgasm, only stopping to move your hips once you’re all spent and resting your head on his shoulder. Your eyes are glassy, vision foggy, but the only thing you can envision clearly is Chan.

Chan jolts when your hand grazes over his bulge. You’re about to undo his pants, but he’s quick to stop you and restrict your hands behind your back.

“You think you deserve my cock? Dream on. As if I would fuck any commoner, especially those who don’t respect me,” he spits, and you flinch at his choice of words, clearly recalling that you used the exact same terms and he’s now using it against you. “You said you’d take any punishment. Well, guess what? This was just punishment number one.”

#yes the ending is rushed oops sue me #may consider part 2 so heads up #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #smut.mine #dom!chan #sub!reader #crispy.txt

[vajranam]

The Lotus Stalks

The Lotus Stalks - Teaching from a past life account of Buddha Shakyamuni:

Like deception and violence, sensual enjoyments are anathema to those who know the pleasure of detachment. Thus has it been heard:

The Bodhisattva (Lord Buddha Shakyamuni) was once born in a noble Brahmin family of impeccable standing, well know of its merits. He had six younger brothers and a sister who shared his virtues and followed his example out of affection and esteem.

The Bodhisattva studied the Vedas together with the Upavedas and the Vedangas. He became famous for his erudition and much respected by the people. Wise and modest, he looked after his parents with utmost devotion and guided his brothers into the world of learning like a teacher or a father.

His parents died in the course of time and the Bodhisattva was deeply affected. He performed their funeral rites and after some days spent in mourning, assembled his brothers and told them: ‘This is the inevitable and tragic way of the world. Death separates us no matter how long we live together. Therefore, I wish to renounce all this and take the blessed road to salvation, before death strikes me down like an enemy while I am still enjoying a householder’s life.

‘For this reason’, said the Bodhisattva, ‘I would like to inform all of you that the lawfully obtained wealth in this Brahmin household will be adequate for your needs. You should live here properly with mutual love and respect. Never slacken your regard for character and conduct. Devote yourself to studying the Dharma; attend to your friends, guests and kinsfolk; and observe the rules of righteousness. Adhere well to the householder’s life, always courteous, delighting in charity and intent on your studies. In this way your fame will increase together with your virtue and wealth. Even your afterlife will be secured. So, take care as you live here.’

The Bodhisattva’s brothers were greatly agitated by his talk of renunciation. Bowing to him with tears in their eyes, they said: ‘Grief at the loss of our father has pierced us like an arrow. The wound it caused is no yet healed. It does not behove you, brother, to rub the salt of yet another sorrow into it. Please give up this idea. Alternatively, if you consider domestic attachments to be inappropriate and the bliss of forest life the way to salvation, why do you wish to go away by yourself, leaving us bereft in this house? Your chosen path is equally ours. We will also renounce the world.’

Those who have not practiced detachment are usually motivated by worldly desires,’ the Bodhisattva replied. ‘They generally consider renunciation to be like falling off a cliff. That is why I desisted from asking you to take to forest life, even though I know fully well the difference between that and a householder’s existence. But, if it pleases you, we can all renounce the world.’

Thus, all seven brothers and their sister gave up their estate and valuable properties, their sorrowing friends and relations, and took to the life of homeless ascetics. With them went three others: a companion, an attendant and a maidservant.

Eventually the renunciants came to a vast forest. In it was a large lake whose pure, blue water seemed ablaze with blooming lotuses in the day and shimmering with lovely lilies at night. By the side of this lake, frequented by honeybees, they built themselves separate huts of leaves under shady trees, at some distance from each other to provide pleasant solitude. Here they lived, observing all the vows and rules and absorbing their minds in meditation. Every fifth day they would go to the Bodhisattva to listen to his pious discourses on the joys of tranquility. His inspiring words exhorted them to meditate and avoid the pitfalls of worldly desires. Dwelling at length on the pace of mind which comes with detachment, he also condemned idleness, hypocritical talk and other vices.

Their maidservant, who loved and respected them deeply, continued to look after them as before. Every day she would pull out lotus stalks from the lake and place them in equal portions on large lotus leaves at a clean spot on the shore. After that she would announce the meal time by striking a piece of wood against another and withdraw. Having performed their daily prayers, the hermits would then come out one by one in the order of their age and taking their portion of the stalks, return to their respective huts. There, they would take their meal in the prescribed manner and pass the remaining time in meditation. In this way they avoided seeing each other except at the time of discourses.

The hermit’s fame spread far and wide on account of their faultless character and conduct, love of detachment and contemplative life. Shakra, the king of gods, also heard about it and came down to test them. His respect for their virtues increased on observing that they were given to meditation, averse to wrongdoing and always calm and serene:

‘One free of desires,

Who lives in the forest

Devoted to peace,

Instils in the hearts

Of all good people

Respect for his virtues.’

But Shakra became all the more keen to put them to a test. On the following day the maidservant gathered lotus stalks for the sages as usual. She washed the stems, white and tender as the tusklets of an elephant calf and placed them in equal portions, decorated with lotus petals and stamens on emerald-green leaves of the plant. After that she struck together two pieces of wood to announce the mean and withdrew. At that moment Shakra, the lord of the goods, decided to test the Bodhisattva by causing the first portion of the lotus stalks to disappear.

The extent of a good man’s patience can be seen as it grows when troubles occur and comforts vanish. When the Bodhisattva came to the place where the first portion of the lotus stalks used to be kept, he noticed that the decorations were in disarray and there were no stalks on the lotus leaf. ‘Someone has taken away my share,’ he concluded without any agitation or anger and returned to his hut where he resumed his meditation. To avoid upsetting the other sages, he did not inform them about this; they in turn assumed he would have taken his share as they took theirs before returning to their huts to eat and meditate.

On the following day Shakra again concealed the Bodhisattva’s share of lotus stalks and repeated this test on the third, fourth and fifth day. As for the great one, he remained calm and content as always:

‘For good people, the minds turmoil

Is more deadly than death itself;

the wise will not get agitated

though their lives are put on stake.’

On the afternoon of the fiftieth day, when the other sages came as usual to the Bodhisattva’s hut to hear his discourse, they found him looking gaunt, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, his face wan and his voice weak. But though emaciated, he was delighted to look at as the crescent moon for his fortitude and tranquility were unaffected.

The Bodhisattva’s brothers were worried. Approaching him politely, they enquired why he had become so thin. When he told them what had happened, they could not imagine that any of them would do such a thing. ‘Alas! Alas!’ they cried, distraught at his suffering and stood before him, their heads hanging in shame.

The power of Shakra had clouded the brother’s judgement and they could not figure out how the lotus stalks had disappeared. At last the eldest brother uttered an extraordinary imprecation to display both his emotion and his innocence. ‘O Brahmin!’ he cried, ‘may he who stole your lotus stalks find fulfilment with a charming wife, children and grandchildren and a house embellished with all the signs of prosperity!’

‘O chief of Brahmins!’ exclaimed the next brother, ‘may he who stole your lotus stalks indulge in exquisite worldly pleasures, flaunting garlands and sandalwood paste, fine garments and ornaments which his children have touched for good luck.’

‘May he who stole your stalks even once,’ said the third brother, ‘enjoy himself at home without worrying about the passage of time; and may he make money from framing, live with his family and delight in the prattle of his children.’ ‘May he who stole your lotus stalks out of greed rule the entire earth,’ said the fourth brother. ‘May other kings pay him homage, humbly like servants, the plumes quivering on their bowed heads.’ ‘May he be a royal priest, that person who stole your lotus stalks,’ said the fifth brother. ‘May he know the auspicious incantations and receive honors from the king.’

‘May he who sought your lotus stalks and not your virtues be a teacher well versed in the Vedas,’ said the youngest brother. ‘May people come and honor him with the reverence due to ascetics.’ ‘May the person who could not subdue his greed for your lotus stalks receive four hundred fine and prosperous villages for his enjoyment from the king.’ Said the companion, ‘and may he die before his passions fade.’ ‘May he who harmed his own interest for the sake of the lotus stalks become a village chief,’ said the attendant. ‘May he enjoy himself with his friends amidst the singing and dancing of women and never be troubled by the king.’

Then spoke the sister. ‘May the person who stole the lotus talks of even someone such as you have a figure of radiant beauty,’ she said, ‘and may the kind make her his wife, the first among a thousand women.’ ‘And may she who saw your lotus stalks and not your righteousness, look past good people.’ said the maidservant. ‘May she amuse herself eating all alone the tasty morsels she receives as gifts.’

Now some denizens of the forest – a yaksha, an elephant and an ape had also come to listen to the Bodhisattva’s discourse. They too were disturbed and ashamed to hear what had happened. The Yaksha pronounced a curse to demonstrate his innocence. ‘ May he who betrayed even you for the sake of the lotus stalks live in the great monastery of Kachangala,’ he cried, ‘and be an artisan making windows every day.’

The elephant followed suit. ‘O best of sages,’ he said, ‘may he who stole your lotus stalks be exiled from the delightful forest into human habitation, there to be bound in six hundred strong fetters and suffer pain of the sharp elephant goad.’ The ape spoke next. ‘May he who was so greedy as to steal your lotus stalks wear a floral garland and a tin collar to chafe his neck,’ he said. ‘And may he be beaten with sticks made to confront serpents and be kept in the snake charmer’s house, tied to a harness.’

The Bodhisattva replied to all of them in persuasive words full of courtesy, which displayed his profound calmness. ‘Someone stated that the stalks have vanished when actually they have not,’ he said. ‘Or someone suspects you all of having done this. May he obtain all the pleasures he desires and live out his life as a householder.’

Shakra, the king of the gods, marveled at the extraordinary imprecations which had been uttered. They indicated an abhorrence of indulgence in pleasures which roused his respect. Revealing himself in his radiant form, he approached the sages and said, as if in anger, ‘Yu must not speak like this! Why do you run down worldly pleasure? People are so anxious to obtain them that they cannot sleep; they are prepared even to undergo the travails of penance for their sake.’ ‘Sensual enjoyments, sir, mean endless suffering,’ the Bodhisattva replied. ‘Listen in brief to what these are. It is because of them that sages have no praise for such pleasures. People suffer imprisonment and death while seeking them. They are afflicted by grief and fear, by fatigue and all kinds of misery. It is only for the sake of pleasure that kings oppress virtue and go to hell when they die.’

‘It is due to the pursuit of pleasure,’ the Bodhisattva added, ‘that friendships fade suddenly. People tread the dirty paths of political chicanery, lose their reputations and suffer in the afterlife. Pleasures are destructive, of both this and the next world, for all kinds of people, the worst, the middling as well as the best. That is why, O Shakra, they are avoided like angry snakes by sages who seek spiritual betterment.’

The king of gods welcomed these words. Pleased at the sages’ nobility of mind, he admitted his own misdemeanor. ‘Respect for merits comes when they are tested,’ he said. ‘It was in order to test you all that I hid the lotus stalks. They now testify to the firmness of your character. The world is fortunate to have sages like you whose fame is based on facts.’ With these words Shakra presented the lotus stalks to the Bodhisattva. But the latter rebuked him for his discourtesy and audacity. ‘We are not your kinsmen or companions,’ he said forcefully, ‘nor are we performers or buffoons. On what basis did you then come here, O king of the gods, to play such a game with sages?’

Thus addressed, Shakra hastily took off the earrings which lit up his face and his crown in a gesture of penitence and bowing to the Bodhisattva with the utmost respect, asked for forgiveness. ‘You have no selfish thoughts,’ he said. ‘I have explained why I acted so rashly. You must pardon me sir, like a father and a teacher. Some people are blind to wisdom and it is natural for them to give offence even to the virtuous. But for those who are self-contained it is equally natural to forgive. So, do not be angry with me.’

Having sought forgiveness, Shakra disappeared straightaway. Thus it is that sensual enjoyments are anathema, like deception and violence, to those who know the pleasures of detachment. The Lord Buddha thus explained his birth story. ‘I, the son of Sharadavti, Maudgalayayana, Kashyapa, Purna, Aniruddha and Ananda were then brothers. Utpalavarna was the sister, Kubjottara the maidservant and the householder Chitra, the attendant. Satagiri was the yaksha, Parileya the elephant and Madhudata the ape. Kalodayi was Shakra. Thus should this birth story be remembered.’

~Jatakamala Sutra (Translated by A.N.D. HAKSAR, 2003)

#wisdom #spirituality #mindfulness #meditation #religion #buddhism #self care #zen #visualization #tibet

[toolittletoomuch]

Start here!

We make some short texts about our life, find it in #chronics of being an autistic system

About our art

We're learning to draw and ww will use this accont (and our twitter) to express ourselves as someone who deals with mental illness and trauma so we may post sensitive content sometimes

But the last thing we want is to be a trigger so we'll always indicate and tag the triggers so we suggest that you blacklist the tags that may trigger you. Please stay safe!

About us (We will edit from time to time to keep it fresh)

We are a system formed due to childhood trauma. We figure it out recently so we still don't know much, We're still getting to know each other. I don't knowhow many we are as I keep finding more and more.

We are autistic, professionally diagnosed. But we still don't have a professional diagnosis to DID or OSDD. We are working on it. But it has been recognized by our therapist.

We are from Brazil, English is not our first language so please forgive the mistakes.

We almost never have amnesia and we don't switch often. Our host is always on the front our co-councious. We probably have OSDD1b or partial TDI which is a new diagnosis and we meet all the criteria.

The body has 22. We are in college and we study psychology. We also are writers but only published a short-story in portuguese until now. Maybe one day it'll be translated, who knows 🤷🏻‍♂️

Now about the alters, we'll post a little here, make a post about each one and put the link here so you could know more. But it will probably take a while to finish. Anyway, here we go:

Theo

I'm the host of the system, always around. My pronouns are they/ them. 22 and I age with the body. I like the color blue, I like to play minecraft and the sims, I love medical shows and I'm the one who lives outside life more. Theo is my name but it's not the body's name. That one we chose not to say. I'm trans nonbinary and pansexual. As I'm on the front almost all the time, the body is transitioning.

Devil

I'm 20. My pronouns are she/her. I like to enjoy life so quarantine sucks! I f*cking miss the parties we never went, the fun we never had. My favorite color is red and black. Yes, my name is Devil but I'm human and I'm not evil.

Katy

l'm 16. My pronouns are she/her. If you could see me the first thing you would notice is my style. I'm alternative, maybe a litlle goth or emo, IDK, I don't have references. But I don't care for labels, we have a lot of bigger problems. I fight for justice and environmental causes. I wanna a better world for my future.

M.

I'm what they call a sexual protector. I'm older than I wish I was, but I'm still sexy. Other then obviously what my function made you think, I really love music. My pronouns are he/him.

Esme

I'm a caretaker and a emotional protector. I try to keep the body calm. My pronouns are she/ her and I have two daughters in the system: J. and C.

Hector

You may think that because I'm fat and funny I'm a soft guy, but I'm a protector and stop underestimating me because I'm very strong and I'll win any fight you start. My pronouns are ge/ him and my age doesn't matter, let just say I'm big lol

About the littles

We are not going to give much information. They are kids for God's sake. What we can say is what is on their little space blog @tltm-kids:

S. is 3

C. is 4

J. is 8

Ca. is 10

T. is a age slider between 6 and 12

There's more but today It's that!

#did #osdd #osdd 1b #other specified dissociative disorder #dissociative identity disorder #partial did #actually multiple #actually dissociative #actually autistic #neurodivergent #mental health #art #vent art #tw swearing

[suhyla]

Lessons From The Hijrah 🍃🐪 Dr. Akram Kassab

The Hijrah is one of the events that changed the course of history, and it contains many lessons and learnings, and here I will mention some of what I learned from this blessed migration:

1. The Hijrah taught me: That tawakkul (reliance) upon Allah does not negate taking practical steps. Rather, the first step of having Tawakkul is to be taking practical measures, and this was evident in going out at night and hiding in the cave.

2. The Hijrah taught me: That the [best] outcome is for the righteous. So no matter how much the falsehood rises it is defeated, but victory is not only a victory over an enemy, but your persistence in the truth is a victory, and your adherence to your principles is a victory. Mus'ab did not see the stabilization of the muslim community nor did Hamza see the religion of Islam becoming dominant but they were victorious by remaining steadfast upon their principles until they died.

3. The Hijrah taught me: that sincerity is the basic foundation. So whoever speaks for da'wah seeking fame or wealth has missed the goal. If Muhammad, may God bless him and grant him peace, wanted that, he would not leave his homeland and would not leave his house. So make sincerity your guiding motto and the world and the hereafter will come to you.

4. The Hijrah taught me: Moderation is the companion of the Muslim. So he is not humiliated when he is weak, nor is he arrogant when he is victorious. We saw the Messenger, may the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him, leaving [his homeland] alone to migrate honored by his religion and dawah saying, as narrated by Ahmad: "If only your people did not force me to leave I would not have left." We also saw when he returned after eight years after the conquest of Makkah, he was nothing but humble and grateful.

5. The Hijrah taught me: That, without a doubt, God’s preservation of the callers of Dawah is certain, but preservation is not only the protection of life. Rather, from it, and most importantly, is the preservation of the religion. And no one emigrated for the sake of God except that God preserves his religion for him. And ask about Suhayb, Bilal, Ammar and Abu Salamah and you will be informed of this with certainty.

6. The Hijrah taught me: Confidence appears in during circumstances of difficulty. And here is the example of Al-Sideeq submitting himself to his friend, May the Peace and Blessings of Allah be upon him, on a journey filled with dangers. And what a most wonderful response of Al-Sideeq when he was asked: "Who is this man in front of you?" He said: "This man shows me the Way..." (Narrated by Al-Bukhari)

7. The Hijrah taught me: Victory comes with patience. There is no victory for the one who is frantic and hasty and no victory for the one who is quick to despair and lose hope. The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said to Khabab and his brothers: By Allah, this religion (i.e. Islam) will prevail till a traveler from Sana (in Yemen) to Hadramaut fearing nobody except Allah and the wolf lest it should trouble his sheep, but you are impatient." (Narrated by Al-Bukhari)

8. The Hijrah taught me: Whoever left something for the sake of God, God would compensate him with something better than it. When the Companions left Makkah, which was of the best places to live, God conquered the world with them and they traveled the earth and inhabited many different lands bringing goodness and virtue to its' people.

9. The Hijrah taught me: that the woman is the companion of the man, so neither the man alone builds a civilization, nor can the woman alone create glory. And that is why Asma and those before her such as Sameeah and Naseebah were not absent from the events of the Hijrah.

10. The Hijrah taught me: that victory is not with the enthusiasm of the youth alone nor with the wisdom of the elders alone. The lesson is in the abilities and qualities. What Ali did is not less than what Al-Sideeq did. And Al-Sideeq did not qualify for his companionship [in the journey] due to his age or friendship, nor did Ali qualify for his role due to his youth or kinship, but rather what nominated each of that was based on their capabilities and qualities.

11. The Hijrah taught me: that preaching and guidance does not build civilizations or bring glory, but rather what builds civilizations and glories is through determination and planning. And the prophethood of the Prophet, may Peace and Blessings of Allah be upon him, did not prevent him from planning. So the role of Al-Sideeq was his companionship, the role of Ali was to take the place of the Prophet (may peace and blessings of Allah be upon him), and the role of Asmaa was delivering food and sustenance, and the role of her brother was to bring news and to help keep their location hidden, and Ibn Areeqat's role was to show them the way.

12. The Hijrah taught me: That life has roles and everyone has a role in which he is fit and not everyone is fit for every role. He who does good work openly has a role model in the Al-Faruq, and whoever performs the work in secret has an example in the rest of his companions. And whoever God has endowed with money, then the giving of Al-Sideeq is a great example to be mentioned... So put yourself in what you have mastered and are effective, not what you love and desire.

13. The Hijrah taught me: that the leader does not deserve leadership if he takes it upon himself to act alone. Whoever leads alone will live alone and die alone. So the companionship of the leader is necessary. If someone was able to work alone, the Prophet, May the Peace and Blessing of Allah be upon him, would have done it. And in the Qur’an: {He said to his companion, “Do not grieve; indeed Allah is with us.” [At-Tawbah: 40].

14. The Hijrah taught me: The good is always in what God has chosen not what the servant of God wishes. God may dispel from you what you wish because He wants for you better than what you desire. Al-Sideeq wanted to migrate alone but Allah wanted for him an unparalleled companionship in his journey. And according to al-Tabarani, the Prophet, peace and blessing be upon him, said: “Do not hurry; Perhaps God facilitate for you a companion [in your journey]".

15. The Hijrah taught me: That the Home of the Caller to Islam is his primary supporter. They believe in his idea, defend his cause, and carry out what his call requires. And how wonderful is the home of Al-Sideeq? The father is the companion [in the journey], the daughter brought them the food, and the son brought them the news. What a great and wonderful home.

16. The Hijrah taught me: Adversity strengthens the material of men. The men of Al-Arqam, the people of Abu Talib, and the people of the first and second bay'ah are the men of al-Hijrah, and they are the men of the da'wa and the state and how much has the intensity of the torture strengthened the resolve of Ammar, Bilal and Khabab.

17. The Hijrah taught me: That the man of the da'wah is not the man of the state, and there is good in each of them. Abu Dharr who was of the first of the Muhajireen, and he is the truest of the people in speech, but he is not fit for a statesman, even if he is a man of preaching at the highest and best degree. And therefore the abundance of worship does not qualify one for positions of leadership, and being from the first and foremost in the dawah does not necessarily qualify one for leadership.

18. The Hijrah has taught me: There are actions of the heart and actions of the body. For the heart is the worship through tawakkul (reliance), trust, tranquility, certainty, love and loyalty. And for the body are actions such as supplication, humbling oneself, reverence, striving, courage and generosity. So do not deprive yourself of either of these.

19. The Hijrah taught me: That brotherhood does not mean eating a brother’s money while he is under the duress of modesty. A person is more deserving of his own money. And according to Al-Bukhari, the Abu Bakr Al-Sideeq said: "O Messenger of God! I have two she-camels I have prepared specially for migration, so I offer you one of them." The Prophet said, "I have accepted it on the condition that I will pay its price."

20. The Hijrah taught me: The homeland of the Da'ee is where Allah opens the hearts of people for him and the Muslim’s homeland has no limits. If he is restricted in the place which he resides, even if it is the best of places, he must look for another place to reside. Allah says: And whoever emigrates for the cause of Allah will find on the earth many [alternative] locations and abundance. [Al-Nisaa: 100]

-Dr. Akram Kassab

#islam #hijrah #muslims #sunnah #sahaba #muhammad #rasullulah #deen #imaan #Allah

[paodequeijofeliz-blog]

Don’t you remember?

Bloodbound Fanfiction (characters and main story belongs to Pixelberry Studios).

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed and MC (Annie)

Information: this takes place long after Bloodbound 3. In this scenario, MC was Turned only after giving birth to their daughter.

Summary: Thirty years after meeting Annie for the first time, now Kamilah is married and has a daughter who is about to get married as well. While preparing the wedding, they decide to remember Lysia’s childhood stories.

Warnings: just fluff.

Part 1 Part 3

Don’t you remember? - Part 2

January 8th, 2049

           They decided to have lunch at Annie’s favourite Italian restaurant. It was right around the corner, and Kamilah was definitely in the mood for some good wine. She asked for their best bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, watching as her wife smiled across the table. So many years ago, they sat at a different restaurant and shared their first bottle of wine. Ever since, Kamilah kept asking for the same type, even though it wasn’t her favourite. It had good memories attached to it.

           “Bring five glasses, please. And make it two bottles. We’re expecting more company.” Annie smiled at their confuse expressions. “I texted Adrian and Lily, they’re coming for lunch too.”

           “Aunt Lily is back already? The wedding is not until two weeks.” Lysia crossed her legs, a proud and perfect posture, just like Kamilah.

           Annie, on the other hand, looked like a child playing with the fork and the empty plate. “She’s your godmother, it’s her duty to help us organizing it. Annnnnnnnnd Lil loves planning parties. We stayed up all night putting together the perfect playlist.”

           “Should I be afraid?” Lysia sighed, already imagining what kind of songs they chose.

           “Nah, I promise we behaved.” She winked at her daughter, watching the waiter bring their wine almost at the same time Adrian and Lily walked in. “Perfect timing, you two.”

           “Lucky us for being just down the street. Hi, sweetie.” Adrian gave Lysia a tight hug, sitting right beside her, while Lily placed loud kisses on both girl’s cheeks before going to Annie’s side.

           Kamilah was the first to lift her glass, already used to her wife’s love for toasts.

           “To the best person ever born in this planet!” said Annie, followed by ‘cheers’ from the rest of the group.

           After a sip of wine, the Egyptian gently placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, I believe we promised your mother we would tell baby stories now.”

           “Yes, you did promise me that!!!”

           “Oooh yeah, let’s do it!! My favourite is when I accidentally forgot a chocolate bar on the table, and she ate it all.” Lily chuckled, ignoring the dangerous glare from Kamilah. “Girl, you were a happy kid that day. But I almost got killed because of it.”

           “There was also that time we took you to Disney, and none of these two party pooper over here wanted to let you ride the roller coaster.” Annie pointed at her wife and Adrian with her half empty glass. “Not until you cried so much, they decided to accompany you there. Remember that?”

           “Yes, I would give anything to see it again. Everybody laughing, breathless, messy hair, wrinkled clothes, heart raced, and you two looked like nothing had happened.” Lysia shook her head in disbelief.

           Kamilah smiled proudly. “It takes way more than a kid’s playground to put me breathless.”

           “Yeah. It takes me.” Annie bit her lip, quickly finding her wife’s leg under the table. That only made Lysia sigh at her shameless mother.

“What about you, Uncle Adrian? Do you have a favourite memory?”

           “I do.” His smile was soft as he took one of the girl’s hands. “You were just three years old. The first time you said my name. Don’t you remember, Annie? Tell us.”

           “Hum, I think I do… It was during the spring…”

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------

May 22nd, 2023

           Kamilah was late. Not a surprise there.

           Annie got so used to it. Every time they had a night out planned, a sudden phone call or an urgent email would pop up and delay things. That’s why she started to set their dates a couple hours earlier than usual. Now, her wife was an hour late, but it wasn’t even 6pm yet, so there was still plenty of time to finish combing her hair while mumbling alone. “I swear, one of these days I’ll call her assistant and book a fake business meeting. This way, she will be on time.”

           “You actually did it.” Kamilah pinched her nose, interrupting the story.

           “Really, mom?”

           “Yeah. I booked a meeting under the name of Jaden Marshall. You should’ve seen her face when she realized what happened … Anyway, focus.”

           “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa” screamed Lysia, giggling as trying to run towards the door. Annie already knew what that meant.

           “Hi, Adrian!”

           “Evening, Ann! And hi to you, baby.” He took the girl into his arms and lifted her above his head. Those baby laughs filled the house, echoing through the hallway from where Annie appeared. “Am I late?”

           “No, you’re early. Kamilah is still on the phone.”

           Lysia, who now was well nested on her godfather’s arms, looked back at her mother with those huge dark eyes. “Mommy late.”

           “I know, sweetie. Your mother is always late.” Annie kissed the tip of her nose. “You better behave, okay? And Adrian, please, don’t spoil my baby too much. Between you doing everything she wants and Kamilah wanting her to be totally independent, I’ll go crazy over here.”

           “I won’t make such a promise.” His gaze lingered on Lysia’s face for a moment as slowly walking to sit on the couch. “How can I say no to those eyes?”

           “Ask Kamilah, she does that all the time. Last week, I caught her watching Lysia fall when she was trying to get on top of the bed, and refused to help because, and I quote, ‘mortals need to develop their skills from an early age’.”

           “Talking about me again? Save it for the date tonight, my love.” The Vampire Queen emerged from the stairs, a tone of irony on her voice. She had put an astonishing tight white dress. “Thank you for being here, Adrian.”

           “Not a problem. Take your time tonight. We’ll be fine.”

           Kamilah smiled fondly at them, gently leaning in to kiss her wife, but they were interrupted by Lysia’s voice. The girl had crawled out of Adrian’s lap to energetically point at her mothers.

           “Mommy Kami” she giggled, then shifted to point at Annie. “And silly mommy Anna”.

           “You taught her that, didn’t you?” the Brazilian narrowed her eyes to Kamilah.

           “I have no idea what you’re talking about. She added the ‘silly’ on her own.”

           “Lyshia” the girl pointed at herself while sticking her tongue out, not being able to pronounce her name correctly yet. Then, she turned around, running back to Adrian’s lap. Her small hands went to cup his face, putting their foreheads together. “Andi you, my baby. You are my baby Adian.”

           Kamilah arched her eyebrows, confused. “No, sweetie. You’re the baby. That’s how we call you.”

           But Adrian didn’t listen. He had tears on his eyes, arms holding the girl even closer. “You are the most precious thing in this world. How is Kamilah even able to say no to you?”

           “Easy. Look. Lysia, no.”  

           Annie shook her head. “You’re unbelievable. Let’s go. It’s time.”

           As they were leaving the apartment, even from the elevator, it was possible to hear Lysia giggling happily in there. That sound was so perfect, it would always make Annie’s heart melt inside her chest. She smiled when felt her wife’s arms involving her by the waist, bringing them closer to another kiss.

           “Darling… Do you think something is wrong with Adrian? He has been crying a lot lately.” Kamilah sighed, concerned.

           “No, you shouldn’t worry. He’s just healing.”

           “Healing?”

           “His heart. After those deep wounds, losing a wife and a child, Lysia is helping him heal. Sometimes, babies do that with us. It’s their superpower.”

           “I see…” Kamilah’s expression became serious for a moment. They were already in the parking lot, so she trapped her wife against the car’s door. “If that’s true… Why don’t we make another one of those?”

           Annie gasped. Cofed. Then laughed. “Not that fast, Mrs. Sayeed. If you want another, don’t look at me. Pushing one out was hard enough.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

January 8th, 2049

           “WAIT!” Lily held her hands high to stop Annie’s story. “Kamilah wanted another child? How come I never knew about it?”            

           “Because she changed her mind one month after that, when Lysia went inside her office and draw all over her papers. Besides…” her gaze lingered on Kamilah’s face for a moment, considering carefully what to say. “She wanted me to get pregnant again just to delay things. You were worried about me being Turned, weren’t you?”

           “I was just afraid you could regret it. What if a year later you wanted another baby? I needed to be sure you had considered all the alternatives.” The Egyptian leaned to hold her wife’s hands across the table. “I would never forgive myself for taking away your chances of experiencing what I couldn’t.”

           “You didn’t take away anything. I was sure. Still am.” She intertwined their fingers, both sharing a soft smile.

           Next to them, there was Lily trying to steal a picture with her cell phone. “Perfect. This will go to the slideshow for the wedding.”

           “Wait, what slideshow? Oh, for god’s sake, what are you two up to?” Lysia finished her wine in a gulp. “If I see a naked baby picture there…”

           “You won’t.” reassured Lily.

           “…or you will.” completed Annie, dramatically wiggling her eyebrows. “Sorry, kiddo. That’s the family you got.”

           The weirdest and most perfect family it could exist, in Lysia’s opinion.

#kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #choices kamilah #bb kamilah #choices: bb #choices: stories you play #I didn't read again after finishing so there might be some light mistakes #but I'll eat something and then read again to make sure it's all set

[alarawriting]

Inktober 2020 #4: Radio

Based on the prompt originally from @writing-prompt-s, “You’re taking a road trip in a 5 seater car. Each seat is filled with you, but at various points in your life. One of you strikes up a conversation.”

***

I’m in the driver’s seat, with myself at forty on the passenger side, window down of course, just like I’d do if I wasn’t driving. My selves at ten and twenty are sitting in the bucket seats in the middle row of the minivan, with Ten behind Forty and Twenty behind me, and Thirty is in the back, lying sprawled across the entire seat. My Pandora feed is playing through the radio, and right now, it’s Area 27’s “Driving With The Future Self”, which is apropos, though technically, I am the only one who’s not.

“I hate vans,” Twenty complains. “I can’t put down the window. Why do you even have one?”

“Four kids,” Forty says, and Twenty is taken aback. Ten, however, seems impressed.

“Do you have a lot of cats?” she asks.

“Too many,” Thirty complains from the back seat, so apparently she hasn’t fallen asleep.

“I’ve got small windows open in the back, or I could open my window all the way, and the air would get back to you,” I tell Twenty.

“Roll down your window, it’s better than nothing. Ugh. Why are you driving a car that has windows you can’t open?”

“I’m pretty sure Forty answered that,” I said.

“What, don’t they make vans where the side windows open?”

“Pretty much no. I could maybe have gotten an SUV—”

“AKA, a death trap on wheels—” Thirty calls from the back.

“But as you can see, I don’t want to.”

“What’s an SUV?” Ten asks, young enough that it doesn’t bother her to demonstrate ignorance. I happen to know Twenty doesn’t know what they are either.

“Sports Utility Vehicle. They range from ‘pickup truck, except with a roof and back seats’ to ‘I took this regular car and pasted it onto the wheels of this ice cream truck,’” I say, rolling down my window. “Is that any better?”

“Yeah, but now it’s hard to hear.”

“You and Ten have the best hearing, so you’re just gonna have to tough it out,” I say. “Better miss some words than feel nauseous, right?”

“This is great,” Ten says. “I finally found an adult who will take my issues seriously. Too bad it’s my own older self.”

“It could be worse,” Twenty says. “You could find out that your older self doesn’t care about your issues, which I am not sure is not going on.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake, Twenty, I have a minivan because it moves large families and drywall for construction projects and a million boxes of books when I am moving, or storing extra books, and unfortunately they don’t have them where the gas mileage is pretty good, the reliability record is excellent, and the windows go down. Cheap, fast, good, pick two. I picked gas and reliability.”

“I’m glad you picked gas,” Ten says. “And that you have the windows down instead of the air conditioning. We have to save energy.”

“Does anyone even care about that anymore?” Thirty complains.

“I thought I’d ride a bicycle,” Twenty says. “Not contribute to pollution and wasting gas.”

“I want you to think back to the time we rode a bicycle three miles to our friend’s horse barn, and then maybe you will have the answer for why no bicycles,” Thirty says.

“Actually, it’s because I broke my tailbone having kids, and I can’t sit on the damn things,” Forty says.

“Actually, it’s because of all those things, plus cities aren’t great places for bikes, plus hard to tow young children, plus now I’m old and my knees are shot,” I say. “I could probably come up with half a dozen other reasons.”

“Do you at least have a short commute? Please tell me you have a short commute,” Thirty, who suffered a severe depressive episode that was at least in part caused by a 5 hour daily commute, says.

“I work from home.”

Thirty is now sitting up. She cheers. “Yes!”

“How does that work?” Twenty asks, puzzled. “Wouldn’t you have to go into the lab?”

Oh, wow. I’d forgotten. Twenty still thinks she’s going to graduate college and go to grad school and become a scientist. Forty says, delicately, “We do IT now, actually.”

“What’s IT?” Ten asks. “Aside from the villain in A Wrinkle In Time.”

“Information Technology. We work with computers.”

“We’re programmers?” Twenty asks, dismayed.

This is why I never made the big bucks in IT. “No. More like… oh, hell, it won’t make any sense to you. You don’t even have the Internet yet.”

“The College of Engineering has it,” Twenty says, “but I don’t think the College of Arts and Sciences can get it. Why is it useful and what do we do with it?”

I’m taking this – even Forty’s not quite far enough along to fully understand. Things change fast. “You remember Phenoma Jones’ Phenomenally Weird Phenomenon?”

“I just made that up,” Ten says. “Just, like, a month ago or something.”

“Yeah, of course I remember it if you do,” Twenty says.

This is not entirely accurate. Thirty doesn’t remember the shelf of dolls we had in our bedroom as a child, or more accurately, Thirty doesn’t think about it. Forty just found a picture of it and it reminded her so hard and made her so nostalgic she paid a lot of money to get hold of “new” used versions of all our old dolls, plus a lot of random extras. She still thinks she’s gonna make money selling the random extras. I’d forgotten the Silver Kitten until my brother brought it up a year ago – a story I told about a silver statue that was a stylized number 8 with cat ears and a simple cat face on top, which was somehow alive and powerful. I don’t remember the details. Ten probably does, but I don’t want to derail the conversation by asking her, because she will tell me, at great length, and I can’t bear to hurt myself by interrupting her and making her stop infodumping the way I remember everyone else doing. At my age I know why they did it, but the memory still hurts. So Forty doesn’t remember it and probably not Thirty either.

“Okay, so you know how in those playings, in the future, there’ll be a network connecting all the computers and there’s shows on it and you pay a little bit of money for each show?”

“Yeah,” Ten says.

“That’s real. That’s happening.”

Her eyes go wide. “I predicted the future?”

“You’re not psychic, you just read the right science fiction. And you didn’t get it perfect. Instead of microtransactions to buy a show, we usually subscribe to a service that gives us shows we want.”

“Like cable,” Twenty says.

“Yes, but it doesn’t suck. Instead of thirty million channels and half of them are sports, it’s like a library of videotapes on your computer and you can watch any of them anytime you want.”

“Can you make your own?” Ten, who is very interested in making videotapes, says, and tears prick my eyes. Because yes, Ten, yes, people all over the world make their own and they put them on Youtube, but it’ll come too late for you. You’ll be thirty-five with a tiny baby and a lot of insecurity about your looks and no time to record yourself, and by the time you have the time you’re even older and there’s so many other things you need to do with your time, because it’s running out.

“I think so,” Forty says. “Right, Fifty?”

“Yeah. Our kids have done some of them. We really don’t, though.”

“Oh,” Ten says, disappointed. “Why not?”

I’m not going to tell her because of insecurity about how we look. She’ll understand that well enough but think we just need to push past it, like she does. But Twenty finally likes her appearance, and Thirty doesn’t think she’s too bad looking, and I don’t want to tell them that someday they’re going to see themselves in the mirror and think they look like a short, squat troll or something. And Ten won’t understand what it does to you to finally think you’re beautiful, after suffering with thinking you’re ugly your entire childhood, and then losing it.

“We have other stuff we do,” I say vaguely. “Like learning German.”

“That’s great, but it doesn’t answer my question about what we do for a job. Do we do something with these shows?”

“No. Not the shows. But people put their files up on the Internet as well, and they send emails – messages through the computer—”

“I am smart enough to figure that out from context,” Twenty says disapprovingly. I’ve forgotten what an arrogant twit she could be sometimes. Well, to be honest, I didn’t forget because I never knew. When I was her age, I thought my behavior was fine.

“Right. Subscription services exist for that too. We help people get onto those services, move over any emails or files they had on a different service, and fix their problems.”

Forty is dismayed. “Really? That sounds horrible. Is that tech support? Don’t we get to do anything with data?”

“Sometimes,” I shrug, lying.

If I thought telling them all about everything would change anything for me, I would. But I don’t know how we all get out of this car without me being the only one who remembers any of it, because I don’t remember ever being in a car with my future selves. Either they’re from alternate universes or nothing I say can change their fates, because they won’t remember.

“Are we at least published?” Ten asks. “Tell me we’re published.”

“We have a few short stories published in some anthologies and magazines.”

Twenty is horrified. “Only that? After I’ve written all these stories?”

“The problem is that you suck and nothing you wrote is publishable as-is,” Forty says.

“What do you mean, I suck?”

“Twenty,” I say, because I’ve learned some diplomacy in the past ten years, “everything you’re writing goes into making us the writer we become. Thirty’s pretty damn good. And regardless of whether you ‘suck’ or not, I have a project going on where I’m publishing your stuff online. But it’s for free, on my—” I stop. She won’t know the word “blog”, or even “web page.” “—online journal. I’m editing things to bring them up to my current standard, but if you weren’t writing so much right now, I wouldn’t have anything to draw from.”

“Why aren’t we making money publishing books?” Ten demands.

Forty says, “Because fanfic. When you’re sixteen you’ll start writing stories about Battle of the Planets, and you’ll know you can’t publish them, but you’ll do it anyway. Then you’ll discover a place where there are other fans of the show and its original Japanese version.”

“Writing stories about shows where you can’t publish it in a magazine or a book and you can’t make money is called fan fiction,” Thirty says. “Or fanfic for short.”

“Fanfic’s great, but I’m still writing original stuff,” Twenty says.

“You’ll stop,” Thirty says. “You get instant feedback from writing fanfic – we can put it on the internet, we don’t need to worry about xeroxing two dozen copies anymore and waiting six months to hear anything from anyone. And the instant feedback’s addictive. I thought I’d be able to overcome it and write some books, but apparently, according to these guys, no.”

“I’m doing the 52 Project now,” I tell Forty, since she’s the only one who knows what I’m talking about.

“Now? Like… not eight years ago?”

“Now,” I say. “We needed a fire to light under our asses and we finally got one.” I won’t tell her what it was.

“What’s the 52 Project?” Ten asks.

“52 stories, one a week, every week, for a whole year. That’s where your stories are going, Twenty. And some of your ideas, Ten. I’ve lost everything you ever actually wrote, but it’s ok – you’re going to find a style that doesn’t sound like Mom next year, and a little while after that, I have everything you’ll write. Also, I wrote a kids’ book based on Superkitty.”

“Wow!” Ten says. “But how can you have Underdog in it? Wouldn’t that be fanfic?”

“I changed a lot of things,” I admit. “In my story, Superkitty’s ten. She doesn’t have a hundred family members, just Lara Kitty and a little brother. She’s not working as a slave of the dogs, she lives in Kookalariland, but her family are refugees because the dogs really did take over her home country. And the Underdog character is named Arthur Boy.”

Underdog’s secret identity was Shoeshine Boy. “I see what you did there,” Forty says, grinning. “I assume this isn’t published yet.”

“No. I finished it this year but it’s the first children’s book we’ve ever done – young adult novels, sure, but this is a chapter book for second graders, so I need someone who’s willing to look it over and tell me if it’s good before I send it to an agent.”

“So why are you doing everything now?” Thirty asks. “Did fanfic stop being fun, or did we manage to wean ourselves off it, and if so, how?”

“That rhymed,” Ten tells us all. No one tells Ten that that was not important information because all of us remember being what it was like to be Ten.

“Stuff has happened,” I say. “You know, no one lives forever, and I’m fifty. I need to think about the fact that there’s more time behind me than ahead of me, and I don’t want to disappoint all of you. Maybe if it was just me, I could just go writing fanfic until the end of time, but I know what you all wanted and I don’t want to let you down.”

Thirty says, slowly, “Fifty? Why isn’t there a Sixty in the car with us?”

I almost think I can see a Sixty. She fades in and out in the back seat. Might be my imagination, all the rest of them are as real as anything. “I can guess why, but for obvious reasons, I don’t actually know.”

“Is it diabetes.” Forty says that like it’s not a question.

“Yeah, but also other stuff.” I make a decision. Forty is past the point where any of our children were born; nothing she does can change my timeline enough to make my kids disappear. Either she won’t remember, or nothing will change for me but she can change her own timeline… or maybe she can fix things. The last decade was when everything went to hell. “High blood pressure. Took us a while to get the right medication for that. Then diabetes. Then breast cancer.”

No one in the car says anything until Forty bursts out, “That’s not fair! We don’t even have a family history of cancer—”

“Mom’s going to die of it,” I tell Forty.

“Mom dies?” Ten is appalled. She knew, of course, that people die, but hearing it as a thing that actually happened to Mom is freaking her out. I guess she thought Mom would live a ridiculously long time.

“Lung or breast?” Forty asks me in the harsh monotone I use when all of my effort is going into not showing my emotions. She really doesn’t have to; we all know the trick – maybe Ten’s not self-aware enough to know, but the rest of us do – and we know we have emotions. But I also know I’d do the same thing.

“Brain, in the end. It started in the lung.”

“That doesn’t mean we have a family history of cancer, then. She smoked.”

“Then what’s the point?” Ten screams, tears welling up in her eyes. “I tried and tried and tried to get her to quit! She didn’t quit? After all the times I told her about how bad it was for her?”

“That’s not how addiction works,” I say. “Addicts know what’s bad for them but they can’t stop craving it, and that overrides your willpower. Besides, she did quit. Thirty, has she quit yet?”

“Just did, but… I agree with Ten. What’s the point if she’s gonna die of cancer anyway?” I can’t see her, all the way in the back, but I hear it in her voice. Her eyes are going to be wet and she’s struggling as hard as she can not to cry.

“We don’t know. Maybe that gave her more time. Maybe it wasn’t the smoking at all – she was taking medications for issues with diabetes that they say could cause cancer.”

“When?” Forty asks.

“2015. In 2013 around December they’re going to see something on the X-ray of her lung, but they’ll think it’s scar tissue from smoking. In 2014 they’ll find out it’s cancer, but it’ll be too late by then. She’ll die a year later.”

“No, she won’t,” Forty says. “I’m going to stop it. I’m going to tell her – I dunno. Tell her I dreamed about Grandma telling me I have to warn her about that scar and she needs to get more tests.”

“Yeah, she’ll buy that,” Thirty agrees.

“I hope you can,” I say, “but… I don’t remember ever having ridden in a car with the rest of you, so I don’t know if you can.”

“Maybe this is the start of the paradox cycle,” Thirty says. “Then on the next iteration everything will be different.”

“How did we even get in this car, anyway?” Twenty asks. “And where are we going?”

“More important,” Forty says. “When did you get cancer and how serious is it? Is it related to diabetes? When did you get that?”

“2017 for the diabetes but honestly, probably right after Mom died, because we were too fucked up to go to a doctor and we pretended nothing was happening. And then we did the same goddamn thing about a lump in our breast in 2016 because they said they couldn’t see anything but we should go for more tests, but we lost the paperwork so we didn’t. In 2017 the lump started hurting, so we did go for the tests, and it was cancer. I lost the breast. This is a fake.” I thump my chest. “They say they think they got it all, but there isn’t any test you can undergo yet to find out if the damn thing has popped up somewhere else. The other breast’s clean. They’re giving me drugs that kill my sex drive and are going to ruin my marriage eventually, most likely, because the cancer responds to female hormones.”

I think Ten might be grossed out or upset by talking about sex drive, but I’ve forgotten. Ten can treat the subject of sex as if it’s a clinical matter of interest. She’s the one who tried to explain the birds and the bees to my uncle when she was five. Well, I guess all of us are.

Thirty mutters, “I might get more done that way…”

“You won’t,” I say.

“You’re actually publishing stuff that isn’t fanfic now, are you sure?”

“I’m going to change it,” Forty says. “I’m going to change all of it. I’ll warn Mom. I’ll fix our eating habits now so we don’t get diabetes until later. I won’t let the breast thing go. I���ll change everything. None of the rest of you change anything; if you try to alter the timeline you might erase our kids. But I can do it. I can start the writing earlier, too.”

There’s so much she could theoretically change that she really can’t. I can’t warn her about Donald Trump; she won’t have any power to do anything about it, any more than she did in 2015 and 2016. Same with COVID – she has no power to change that. I could tell her about the issues with the marriage but if I did, I risk Thirty deciding to break up with her boyfriend, who is my future husband and the father of my children. There’s one thing I can say, though. “If you can actually change anything… you’re gonna get the other house. Make sure Dad puts it in your name. Mom and Dad will have issues with some of our pets and it’ll be really upsetting when the house is a mess and they come to visit and complain about the house all day because it’s their house.”

“…How does Dad end up getting involved with the house?” Forty asks.

“Too complicated to explain,” I say, “and not an issue you need to force to exist.” Forty just attempted to get that house – the other half of our duplex – and failed because the underwriters for FHA loans refused to believe she was buying it to live in it rather than rent it out, and she didn’t have enough money to buy it the other way. It’ll work out better the way it actually happened, because Dad got it for a lot less money than Forty would have been able to buy it for, but she needs to not have the specter of how we are treating “their” house hanging over every interaction with Mom and Dad until Mom is dead. Especially if she can do something about Mom dying.

“Is there anything I need to watch out for?” Thirty asks Forty, or maybe me, or both of us.

“Nothing we can tell you. You’re going to have kids. Anything, however small, that you change could affect the timing of that and make you end up with completely different kids.”

Thirty considers that, and then nods. “Okay, good point.”

“Is everything really going to be terrible?” Ten asks. “It sounds like all the awful stuff happens between Forty and Fifty, and then we don’t even know, but… isn’t there anything good?”

“We’re not going to be what we thought we would be,” I say. “We’re not going to change the world. We’re not going to be the Uber-Feminist and whip our man into doing everything we say.” Ten is the only person here who even thought there was a chance of that one, really. “We’re not going to be published novel writers by this time. But we’ll have written four million words, most of it fanfic, most of it good, and we’ll actually enjoy reading it over, and it will always be a huge thrill to hear from someone who liked it. We’ll make many friends, over time, and there will be times when there aren’t any, but there will be times when there are a lot. We’ll make a huge difference in the lives of at least three children who aren’t biologically ours. We’ll learn a lot about ourselves and why we are the way we are and we’ll finally feel like we belong to the human race and there are others like us out there. And we’re also going to publish fifty-two stories in fifty-two weeks.”

“Well, I mean, we don’t know that,” Thirty says. “Unless you’re done.”

“Nope. Halfway through, though. And we’ll learn a lot about how to write short stories that way, and I’m sure that next year we can use that to write new ones that we can publish. It’s not over yet, girls.”

“But maybe you don’t have very much time,” Thirty says. “Because Sixty’s not here.”

“That’s why we’re in this car,” I say. I didn’t know what I was going to say until I said it, but now that I’m saying it, I feel with all my heart that it’s true. “We’re going to look for her. And if we find her, we’ll look for Seventy. Eighty I’m pretty sure is not happening, but what the hell, we’ll look for her too.”

Jig of Life by Kate Bush is playing on the radio. “This moment in time, she said, it doesn’t belong to you, she said. It belongs to me, and to your little boy and to your little girl and the one hand clapping, where on your palm is my little line, when you’re written in mine as an old memory…”

All of us stop to listen to the song. Ten doesn’t know it, but she likes it. She hasn’t seriously discovered her own tastes in music yet, and that song hasn’t yet been written. Twenty and the rest of them all know it, but only I know what it means.

The four of us who know the song sing along with it, and I start crying, but I keep singing anyway.

#inktober 2020 #roman a clef #alara's october 2020 prompt fics #writing-prompt-s

[xgenesisrei]

Truth x Peace

The pandemic opened the way for a heightened migration of people into the world of digital platforms. Lockdowns and restrictions on public gathering pushed everyone, especially those who remained hesitant and unconvinced of the value of social media, to nonetheless make do with what technology can offer. And for Filipinos who are culturally wired to connect with people, that means intensified presence and engagement in social networks. It did not help that the shutdown of ABS-CBN contributed to the further weakening of traditional media such as television and radio. More and more, people, regardless of age, have become reliant on social media as their primary, immediate, and at times, the only remaining source of news and information.

Now that creates a huge problem. Some years ago, social media was seen as the bright solution to greater democracy and more social good. The prospect of everyone having an opportunity to air their own personal opinions, views, and perspectives, a space where free-flow of information is possible, sounded like a path towards people getting more informed and enjoying more freedom. For a time it did. We saw the rise of bloggers, influencers, and thought leaders from everywhere. We saw ordinary netizens empowered to join the public discourse on both pressing and amusing issues in our society. 

That is, until humans in the digital realm saw the rise of trolls taking over, of networks of organized disinformation poisoning our walls and feeds, and of filter-bubbles and echo chambers being birthed by ‘cancel culture.’ In the past years or so, social media morphed into a toxic wasteland flooded with fake news, causing its inhabitants to suffer online fatigue and trauma, and seeing friendships built over a long period of time ripped apart in an instant. It is like seeing the Promised Land, the Holy City of Jerusalem, burning to the ground, ravaged by the fury of the ruthless Babylonians, and leaving it with a very uncertain future. Again, the pandemic provided a most volatile context wherein people fought it out in an open mic tournament, trashing the loudest of voices on vaccines and conspiracy theories, missiles in the Middle East, and what remains of Harry Roque’s soul.

A few months ago, Netflix released a documentary, ‘The Social Dilemma,’ that uncovers the mechanism of how social media is changing our lives in ways that we do not expect and will not want, yet leaving us with very little power to stop it. A few weeks ago, MIT convened an impeccable panel of digital experts for ‘The Social Media Summit.’ They discussed the prospects of rescuing truth in a hostile digital environment. The big question being: Can truth still win in a world where fake news is manufactured and disseminated faster than anyone can fact check it? The experts sounded helpless and as a result they looked not so helpful.

The tension lies between the need to confront people responsible for spreading fake news on one hand and on the other the need to be open as well to the reality that truth not only has two sides but multiple sides and therefore demanding the idea of being willing to listen to ideas you don’t agree with and people you don’t like. 

Towards the end, the MIT summit came up with plans of action that centers, more or less, on the following: “shine light on falsehood,” “bear witness to the truth,” “speak truth to power,” and other similar admonitions that any IVCF-er will be able to quickly connect to not a few passages in the New Testament.

Hearing MIT’s panel of experts, who are by no means church people, much less theists, convinced me that Christians do have something to contribute in winning the war against falsehood without necessarily ripping apart families, friendships, and for God’s sake, faith communities.

So, how do we do this? I will not pretend that this can be tackled in a short time, much less by a single individual. But perhaps I will be able to help in laying down a map of the digital landscape which can serve as a point of departure for those who care enough to find a possible resolution. I will also try to sketch a biblical framing that can serve as initial stepping stones for the path ahead.

Digital Mapping: Maze, Spaces, and Faces. I think it will be helpful to identify the different spaces wherein people are moving in and out of as they engage in social media. At the very least, there are three spaces that we need to pay attention to: first, the terrain of today’s digital environment; second, the virtual presence of Christ’s church in such an environment; and lastly, the manifestations of God’s kingdom ever breaking-in. And on top of those three, another set of three spaces wherein the circles overlap.

Today’s Digital World. I already painted with grim colors the state of social media that we inhabit today. Maybe, I will just add that more and more we are seeing a world undeniably shaped by its digital soul. Definitely, there remains a digital gap, considerable segments of society that are pushed all the more to the margins in the ensuing massive migration to the digital sphere. But as the pandemic rendered digital technology as the primary means by which people communicate and connect to one another, government and private industries, community pantries included, the virtual is already part of our everyday reality. In fact, the virtual has become real. And this is where the reminder of Neil Postman, chair of the communications department of New York University, remains relevant, “The clearest way to see through a culture is to attend to its tool for conversation (Amusing Ourselves to Death, 1985).” Today, the conversations that shape our public discourse and our social imagination is greatly influenced by what we can Like and Share.

Church Presence in Social Media. The next circle, the status of the church’s digital presence, is the one that should cause a bit more of panic and stress on our mental health. Everyone knows that supposedly the church is sent into the world to serve as its “salt and light” (Matthew 5:13-16). And because church people are by no means ‘bulletproof’, Apostle Paul gave a strong reminder of not letting the world provide the mold by which Christians are to conform themselves (Romans 12:2). Instead, they are to be people who keep their minds renewed and transformed into the good, pleasing, and perfect will of God. But the more we examine how churches conducted themselves in social media, the less it appears faithful to its calling. 

Looking at the overlap of the circles of today’s digital world and the church’s digital persona, we will find that there is hardly any difference on how Christians, pastors and church leaders included, can treat one another, trash each other, and treat unverified information as gospel truths. A quick visit to some of the more popular ‘Christian’ FB groups will reveal the amount of salt worth trampling and amount of light sucked in a blackhole. All as a result of defending and insisting for what they believe in their hearts is true and just. This is where the mix of religion and propaganda can even be more damaging. Church people fight for political opinions not only for the sake of the common good but in the name of biblical faithfulness. To differ is to risk being branded as heretical if not altogether evil. And, as you can guess, the feeling is always mutual. In a digital wasteland fragmented by fake news and echo chambers, church communities swallowed in these toxic spaces have very little to offer as an alternative counter-culture. In fact, the degree of fragmentation and delusion to half-truths may even be worse. Tragically, this is the face of the church whose character is slowly being eroded by its digital habits. And, given the formative impact, there can be no denying that the virtual is as spiritual!

God’s In-breaking Kingdom. Fortunately, the kingdom of God is by no means limited to where the church has fallen short of and has failed. In fact, the kingdom of God transcends the borders and backyard of the church. George Eldon Ladd reminds us in his groundbreaking book on the topic, “the church is the community of the kingdom but never the kingdom itself” (The Gospel of the Kingdom, 1995). God’s mission of transforming the world, while primarily proclaimed by the church, is not exclusively carried out by people who call themselves Christians. Wherever life is encouraged to flourish, truth is upheld, and relationships are healed, you know God is at work. Regardless, if there are Christians around. The kingdom is ever on its way and it happens that at times the church so often arrives late.

No wonder it escapes not a few how God has always been at work, in ways that defy expectations, and if we bother to take a closer look, through people that will come as a surprise. Suffice it to say that in God’s kingdom, blessed shall be the nazi fact-checkers, the murdered journalists, the oddballs in toxic echo chambers, and even those who find it within themselves the simple act of just remaining sober. They are the ones who are in the overlap of the circles between today’s digital world and the kingdom of God. Unlikely agents of God’s healing touch in a fractured world. They may be far from the church but very likely near to the kingdom. The MIT summit that I mentioned, honestly, is the kind of conversations that I hoped we have in our Christian circles instead of the endless webinars left and right that offer very little help in healing the worsening fractures in our churches. 

Fortunately, there is that overlap between the kingdom of God and the church’s digital presence. We have here Christians who are caught in the tension of conviction between the need to love people and at the same time refuse lies. They navigate the fleeting space for hope wherein truth-telling and peace-keeping thrives alongside each other, without the need to sacrifice one for the other. They understand very well that severing relationships for the sake of truth is the badge of fundamentalists and legalists. But they also are very much aware that compromising truth for the sake of relationships is a sure step towards the rabbithole of injustice. Somehow, they know that the two have to be held together. A careful balance which the digital culture of social media has undermined and rendered almost impossible to recover. 

But there must be good news that Christians can offer right?

Biblical Framing: Truth and Grace. Do we have anything, from the deep wisdom of the Scriptures and in the clear example of Christ, that can point us to the steps moving forward? 

Immediately, what will come to mind is a familiar passage in John 1:14 that describes the remarkable life of Jesus: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth (ESV).” John the beloved could not have chosen a better pair of words: grace and truth. They sounded great together right? But we know in reality, these are two things that can cancel each other out. We see it everyday on social media. Truth thrown devoid of grace. Grace dispensed at the expense of truth. How could have Jesus made a happy fusion of these two seemingly contrasting values?

There are episodes of his life on earth that shed a clue. Two public engagements are worth noting:

In John 8:1-11, we read of how Jesus was confronted with the case of a woman caught in adultery. Jewish law demands that the penalty of wrongdoing be carried out. But Jesus chose to dispense grace and let the woman off the hook of the requirement of justice. Yet still, he made sure that the woman realized the error of her ways (v. 11). 

Then, in Luke 18:18-24, we read of how Jesus dealt with the rich young ruler. Jesus was blunt and straightforward. Publicly, he identified what was lacking in him and demanded what he himself said was impossible for mere mortals to render -perfection. But it is by this truthfulness that Jesus also opens the space for grace to come in (v. 27).

If anything, Jesus could not afford to either just be a prophet who cries ‘woe to you’ or a shepherd who ‘comes not for the healthy but for the sick.’ He is both. I guess, we cannot do so either. Prudence and discernment calls for us which of the two is needed at a particular moment. As usual, context and timing matters. But it may also be helpful if we can wrap our heads around the subtle irony that lies between the exercise of grace and truth: 

What if truth breaks into us fully when we realize that those people who are most undeserving of grace are actually the ones who need it most? What if grace grips us most when we realize the truth no matter how painful and blunt is what will eventually bring healing and closure?

In any case, my theological conviction is that the character of God’s kingdom we can best see in the life and example of Christ. Anything less are but echoes that need further fine-tuning. It is in Jesus’ story where justice, truth, peace, and grace all fall into their proper places. Going back to John 1:14, Jesus moved into our neighborhood so that we can see that the glory of God is most fully reflected when truth is wrapped in grace and grace is founded on truth.

If our truth-telling prevents us from extending grace to those who clearly have their hands dirty, then we fall short of Jesus’ words on the cross; “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” Except for vengeance and retribution, we will have nothing to offer to those who made the hammers fall, people who have earned the right to become our enemies. 

If our peace-keeping prevents us from telling the truth to those who need grace the most, then we fail to follow the badass Jesus who hesitates not in calling people names when he has to. We will have nothing to say in the face of the Pontius Pilates and Caiaphases of today.

The tension between truth and grace shall remain and it ought to. There might be easy resolutions but I am of the view that this tension is part of the “here-but-not yet” aspect of the kingdom of God. So, we will continue to struggle and juggle until the kingdom comes in all its fullness when Christ returns. I will not forget what Miroslav Volf said when he was questioned by the great theology professor Jurgen Moltmann. Volf delivered a lecture that will serve as the framework of his book ‘Exclusion and Embrace’ (1996) wherein he argues to err on the side of forgiveness and grace. Professor Moltmann then asked him whether he can live by what he has written and be able to forgive the bloody Serbian murderers who massacred his people in Croatia. Volf responded by saying, “Well, I cannot. But as a follower of Christ, I should.”

When people drunk with power make us feel they are undeserving of grace and when people’s cry for justice make us want to see blood, we turn to Jesus and let his story continue to challenge us and to shape us. He left us the big picture of what it means to be a good neighbor especially for those who deserve it the least. More and more I am getting convinced that immersing ourselves in how Jesus loved others is what will help us bridge what we can't/won't do as human beings and what we are freed to do as his disciples.

Crux omnia pro bat. (The cross tests all things.)

Conclusion. I want to end by quickly looking into one of IVCF’s core values -holistic mission. Of course, an important aspect of this work is engaging in prophetic ministry, upholding justice and truth, so that social transformation, and not just personal conversion, will happen. So often, this passion for transforming society is what moves people to ‘cancel’ people so that truth shall prevail amidst a barrage of lies. But a good friend and mentor, Dr. Al Tizon, in his new book, said this:

“I see a great need to advance the meaning of holistic mission, to build on the evangelism and social justice affirmation, by understanding the ministry of reconciliation as the new whole in holistic mission. It must be if the Christian mission is to remain relevant in our increasingly fractured world. In the age of intensified conflict on virtually every level, it can no longer be just about putting words and deeds back together again (though it will take ongoing effort on the part of the church of the church to keep them together); holistic mission also needs to be about joining God in putting the world back together again (Whole and Reconciled, 2018).”

The point of social transformation is ultimately God’s longing for reconciliation. Truth that eradicates is no different from the bombs that got dropped in Palestinian homes. One can argue with a formidable case that it is justified but it won’t be a step towards the peace of Christ. Only towards the peace of Rome: Pax Romana (be at peace, otherwise, rest in peace). What is true of Gaza is also very much true of social media.

“There is no way to peace. Peace is the way. There is no path toward love except by practicing love. War will always produce more war. Violence can never bring about true peace.” -Richard Rohr

-Rei Lemuel Crizaldo, “Truth-telling and Peace-keeping in God’s Kingdom,” prepared for the webinar series on ‘Kingdom Calling’ by IVCF Philippines (May 22, 2021) 

#disinformation #fakenews socialmedia socialdilemma peacekeeping truthtelling prophetic digitaltheology holisticmission integralmission

[basicsofislam]

ISLAM 101: 5 PILLARS OF ISLAM: ALMS AND CHARITY: FIQH OF ZAKAT IN DETAIL:

WHO IS OBLIGED WITH ZAKAT

WHO IS LIABLE FOR ZAKAT?

Before collecting zakat from the obliged, it is essential to first ascertain who these individuals are. This requires certain prerequisites, like the knowledge of Islam, freedom, wealth, sanity, maturity—in addition to the requirements concerning wealth, namely ownership, augmentation, nisab, an elapse of a year and the exclusion of basic necessities.

Moreover, there are additional points pertaining to the collection of zakat that must crucially be observed. In sum, zakat must be requested strictly of those who are eligible, and eligibility demands certain requirements relating, in part, to the person in question, and in part, to the person’s wealth.

WHAT FEATURES MUST ONE POSSESS TO BE OBLIGED WITH ZAKAT?

These requirements can be encapsulated as follows: being a Muslim free of any constraints, possessing the ability to obtain basic needs, being free of debt, and having reached maturity, all of which demand a separate elucidation.

ISLAM

Before anyone, Islam addresses the believer, constructing its precepts on this solid foundation of belief. Therefore, as is the case with other responsibilities, the first requirement for zakat is being a Muslim. The requirement of those who have not accepted Islamic teachings but continue to live in Muslim lands is a simple tax, or jizya, identified by the government.

FREEDOM

Zakat has not been ordained compulsory on those enslaved or incarcerated; conversely, those in this situation are advised, firstly, to utilize their wealth, if they have any, to obtain their emancipation. From this perspective, slaves historically were not compelled with zakat, owing to their lack of physical freedom and their financial constraints.

BEING DEBT-FREE

Falling into debt, in normal circumstances, is something a Muslim should avoid, as it may involve entering the domain of subverting another’s personal rights. The Prophet (upon whom be peace) had conceded to perform the funeral prayer of a deceased Companion only after another Companion agreed to finance his outstanding debts.1 As the time and place of death of any one of us is unknown, the attitude of a wise Muslim would be to avoid, if possible, going into debt in the first place, as the hadith makes clear that dying while in debt can incur a difficulty for the community and a serious burden on our souls.

Critically, of course, Islam has never burdened man with obligations that exceed his capacity; contrarily, it has incessantly promulgated what is easy. This principle is also valid for zakat. Even though a person in debt may possess wealth which surpasses nisab, he is first advised to resolve his debts, and thus excused from zakat. People who find themselves in this position are, in fact, eligible to receive zakat, as testified by the Exalted Creator in the Qur’an.

SANITY-MATURITY

Maturity is the point where obligations start, and in effect, a child is not responsible until he or she reaches that phase. Perhaps some voluntary duties may be taken up for the sake of becoming accustomed to servanthood, although this does not imply an obligatory activity. The advice of the Noble Messenger, for example, is to accustom a child to salat (prayer) at the age of seven, and impart gentle words of encouragement if the child is still not offering salat at age ten. Yet again, the Messenger has pronounced that the pen (responsibility) has been lifted from a child until maturity, from a sleeper until he is awake, and from the insane until sane.2

WHAT ARE THE REQUIREMENTS OF THE PROPERTY SUBJECT TO ZAKAT?

Offering zakat necessitates the prior fulfillment of some requirements pertaining to wealth. Thus, as mentioned above, a person is obliged only to pay zakat on the possessions that meet these terms—namely, a person must possess the entire ownership of the wealth; the wealth must be augmentable; it must have surpassed the set amount well above the basic necessities; and a full year must elapse since its attainment. This description needs to be elaborated further at this point.

OWNERSHIP

In calling upon those obliged to perform their duties of zakat, Islam does not want them to pay zakat on the wealth they are yet to possess, a demand that would indubitably inflict people with financial hardship. Wealth is generally obtained by virtue of legitimate methods like earnings, inheritance, mutual agreements, donations, and so forth; hence, a person can freely dispose of and orchestrate his wealth, and take full responsibility in doing so. This, in turn, verifies the full ownership of wealth and therefore, within this framework, whichever method may be used in attaining this wealth, the owner meeting the requirements of full ownership must unavoidably pay its zakat.

Should zakat be given on loans?

In a case where a person is the creditor, that is, he possesses money that is temporarily lent to somebody else, we are faced with two outcomes in ascertaining the necessity of zakat.

Firstly, if the money that is expected to be paid back is under guarantee, like a check or promissory note seen as certain repayment, then this wealth is virtually commensurable with the wealth at hand, and as a result, its zakat must immediately be paid. Given that the chances of repayment are doubtful or improbable, then the zakat on this money should be delayed until reimbursement takes place. When the repayment does take place, we are then faced with another two alternatives: some scholars believe that as well as not giving zakat for previous years, the current year’s should also be withheld, because in a sense, it resembles newly acquired wealth. The others, who approach the issue from the perspective of the rights of the poor, maintain that its zakat should still be offered. Insofar as caution is concerned, undoubtedly, the additional payment of the previous year’s zakatis more appropriate, both as a means of steering clear from breaching the rights of the poor, as well as taking a step towards attaining the pleasure of God.

AUGMENTATION

(THE INCREASE OF POSSESSIONS)

Islam does not necessitate zakat on property that by nature does not increase, though conversely, it targets augmentable possessions. Augmentation or nama denotes valuables that increase and attract revenue and earnings, and is classified into two: absolute augmentation and relative augmentation. Absolute augmentation is basically the increase of property or possessions through birth, reproduction, trade, or the like. Accordingly, animals or livestock, gold, silver and commercial merchandise fall under this category. Relative augmentation, on the other hand, is the wealth possessing possibilityof increase at the hand of its owner or agent. Irrespective of whether the owner increases it or not, he will effectively be asked for zakaton that wealth, owing to its potential. However, in Islam, if the property is lost or stolen, and the owner consequently becomes powerless in its management, then he is not obliged with zakat.

NISAB

(MINIMUM EXEMPTION LIMIT)

As mentioned earlier, nisab is the minimum extent which wealth must reach to become eligible for zakat. Zakat must imperatively be given of wealth that has realized that amount. As zakat is a critical means of social assistance, it would be meaningless and beyond its aim to either fail to implement such a measure or to demand everyone to pay from whatever trivial wealth they might possess.

Accordingly, the Prophet of Islam (upon whom be peace) has clearly identified the amount of nisab for each item. The nisab has been identified as 5 for camels, 30 for cattle, 40 for sheep, 8 5 grams for gold and 595 grams for silver. The nisab for commercial merchandise is established in concordance with gold and silver. As for agricultural harvest, the ratio is one- tenth for crops grown by rainwater or streams, or one-twentieth for crops grown through personal irrigation. For storable crops like wheat, barley and raisins, the nisab is 5 wasq (approximately 653 kg), and the prevalent conception is that no zakat is required for vegetables such as onions and lettuce. Abu Hanifa, however, maintains that regardless of theirnisab, all agricultural goods, more or less, are subject to zakat.

Insofar as minerals and marine products are concerned, they do not possess a specific requirement for nisab and therefore their zakat, at any rate, must be paid. Because we have thoroughly handled the matter of nisab in the chapters concerning the recipients of zakat, those who desire more information are advised to throw a glimpse there.

THE WEALTH MUST EXCEED BASIC NECESSITIES

Another prerequisite for zakat is that the wealth should surpass the amount needed for sustenance, which may vary depending on social, economical and current circumstances. Nonetheless, there are always aspects on which all can mutually agree on, enumerated by the Hanafi scholars as consisting of basic food items, clothing, housing, enough wealth to see to one’s debts, work utensils or apparatus, furniture, a means for travel—or, in today’s conditions, a car or books needed for education. Moreover, the needs of those who, in Islam, are required to be taken care of—such as children, spouse, parents etc.—are similarly allowed basic necessities which are not liable to calculations of zakat upon the person providing their care.

THE ELAPSE OF ONE YEAR

For one to become obliged with zakat, at least a year has to elapse on the earnings beginning from the date of their attainment. This elapse of a year, called hawalanu al-hawl in Islamic terminology, is calculated in reference to the lunar year. However, this requirement does not necessarily aim at all types of wealth: it does pertain to livestock, money and commercial merchandise; but it does not affect agricultural crops, fruit, minerals, treasure, honey and similar items.

Another aspect needs to be elaborated. A person who continues to acquire new wealth in addition to the base wealth which has reached nisab and is thus subject to zakat, no longer needs to wait for the elapse of a year on these possessions; on the contrary, these augmentations need to be progressively included in the base wealth and calculated accordingly. This point is overwhelmingly agreed upon for commercial merchandise and for the offspring of livestock, although there is a minor difference of opinion between the schools pertaining to increases in different types of livestock. The general consensus, however, is that under such circumstances, one must start anew; for instance, if a person owns camels equivalent to nisab, for which he is paying zakat, and acquires a further 30 cattle or 40 sheep, he would wait a year for these new acquisitions, and then pay their zakat, owing to the difference of type. However, if the person isdoing business with these animals, then without waiting for the elapse of a year, he must pay zakat on them. For this reason, if a person buys a further 100 sheep, for instance, in addition to the 40 sheep for which he is paying zakat, according to Abu Hanifa, he must provide zakat on 140 sheep without waiting for a year to elapse.

#allah #god #islam #muslim #quran #revert #convert #convert islam #revert islam #reverthelp #revert help #revert help team #help #islamhelp #converthelp #prayer #salah #muslimah #reminder #pray #dua #hijab #religion #mohammad #new muslim #new revert #new convert #how to convert to islam #convert to islam #welcome to islam

[ayma-nidiot]

In the White Light - Prideshipping fic Chapter 10

Also on AO3.

Chapter 10 – Memories That Made Those Days Sublime

~Four years later~

“Ireruruy, iraruy… I… I…” The crown prince strained to read the long, decorated papyrus scroll in front of him.

Seto sighed. “It says ‘Ireruruy, iraruy, irakah urugem iomo atakatu.’”

“Wow, you’re great at reading super-tedious text!” Atem rolled up the scroll and shoved it at Seto. “Here, why don’t you do the studying for me, since I can hardly read a single word?”

“Atem, you know that’s not how the Pharaoh’s Incantation works.” Seto gave the scroll back much more gently and whined again. “Why don’t you take a break?”

“But you know how Father is!” Atem put his fists on his hips. “‘Son, I’m not getting any younger and you have to be prepared to take the throne any day now!’ Humph. I wish my old man would have more confidence in himself. Plus, I’ve got you to help!”

“I’m bored now.” Seto got up and adjusted his headdress. “I know it’s been a while, but how about we duel for old-time’s sake?”

“And also annoy Father for old-time’s sake?” Atem eagerly stowed his study materials. “I’m game! To the throne room!”

“Hahaha, I miss the good old days when we can duel whenever we wanted!” Seto took his place behind the stone tablets and raised the Millennium Rod in the air. “Now that we’re in an alternate dimension, nobody will stop us – namely, me from defeating you!”

“Before we start, Seto, I have a small request.”

Seto got off his power rush to say, “Yeah, what?”

“How about we make a bet? The loser has to reveal his deepest secret to the winner.”

“I-Is that all? Very well, I accept your bet! And I’ll do the honours of starting this game! I use Horn of the Unicorn to power up my Assault Wyvern!”

“Starting off with a powerful combo right off the bat, huh? Very well. I counter with Dark Magician!”

“Our monsters now have the same attack power. What are you trying to pull?”

“I play a Yami field spell! Since my Dark Magician is a spellcaster, he gets a power-up that’s more than a match for your Assault Wyvern! Now, Dark Magic Attack!”

“Well, well, well.” Seto didn’t seem to care about this small setback. “You must have a really good secret if you’re playing even tougher than usual!”

“Sh-Shut up and make your move!”

“Did you forget already that my ultimate beast is way stronger than yours?” Seto sneered as his Blue-Eyes White Dragon made an appearance. “Not only that, but I can use my Horn of the Unicorn as often as I want! Use your White Lightning, my dragon!”

“Oh… oh no…” Atem trembled slightly as he tried to think of his next move. Am I going to have to tell Seto about my impure thoughts? Not fully confident his next move would work, he declared, “I play the spell Monster Reborn to-”

“Ateeeeeem!” an angry voice suddenly interrupted. “Where in the name of Ra are you?”

“If there’s someone here in the middle of our Shadow Game, then it has to be someone with a Millennium Item!” Atem turned around, faced now with the stern stare of his father. “Oh, uh… Hello, Father.”

“Don’t ‘hello, Father’ me!” Aknamkanon admonished as the throne room turned back to normal. “How dare you take the Shadow Games lightly? Or did you neglect the fact that we of the royal family use them to decide the fates of prisoners and the like? Or the fact that it isn’t hard to die in the middle of one?”

“Um…” The crown prince fidgeted.

“If you couldn’t remember something so simple, then you need to study more. Now back to your room!” Aknamkanon snapped his fingers.

“Yes, sir…” Atem sauntered back to his room, where he found his things neatly stacked and his best friend sitting on his bed. “Mahad! What are you doing here?”

“Hey, how have you been faring?” Mahad got up to greet his prince. Unlike most of his retainers, Mahad had the courage to address him informally. “Hmm… Judging from your face, I imagine not well.”

“It’s Father. He’s making me study the ways of our government, mathematics, languages, history… and whatever else almost nonstop.” Atem exhaled. “He forgets that I am still a teenager and even I have a need for fun.”

“And a good meal!” Mahad turned around to present the crown prince with a golden platter full of food.

“Oh gods, Mahad, you made all this for me?” Atem started digging in excitedly. “It’s amazing! Thank you so much!”

“Anything for my hardworking best friend!”

Between mouthfuls of food, Atem managed, “Nothing like a good meal after what I’ve been through during that duel!”

“Atem, were you playing a Shadow Game again?”

Atem paused from eating. “Don’t tell me that you’re upset too?”

“Oh no, I love partaking in the Shadow Games almost as much as you and Seto do. In fact, I’ve started to experiment with my spells. I’m particularly interested in fusing the ka of some of my monsters with the ka of others.”

“I’ve never thought about that! Hehe, maybe I can use it against Seto the next time we duel.” Atem finished the rest of the meal and placed the empty dishes on the nearest table.

Mahad gave his prince a sneaky smile. “You know, Atem, it seems that you use Seto’s name in every other sentence.”

“I-I do?” Atem tried in vain to hide his blush from his best friend. “Oh yeah, that reminds me of our duel just now. So I placed this bet that whoever lost had to tell the winner a secret. I was really afraid I’d have to tell Seto mine.”

“Oh? Is it a secret you feel comfortable sharing with me?”

“Okay, but please don’t tell anyone!” Atem received a nod from Mahad and then continued. “Ever since our first meeting, I’ve been thinking about what an interesting person Seto is. He’s showed me the ways of our common people, from their jokes to how they suffer. He’s giving me such a drive to improve like I’ve never had…” Atem looked back to Mahad with hopeful eyes. “Mahad, I’m scared of these thoughts. What do they mean?”

“They mean that as the crown prince to the greatest kingdom in our history, you would do well not to fall in love with Seto.”

“Wh-What? Love?!” The crown prince shot up, spilling the small remainder of water he had in his goblet. “You mean… like how my father fell in love with my mother?”

“Yes. I’ve heard stories of what previous pharaohs have done to their sons who slept with other men. Let me tell you, it’s not something you want happening to you.”

“But… But…” Atem stuttered. “I can’t help it! I’ve never felt this way about anyone before… Not even when Father has introduced me to several noblewomen and princesses from other realms. I’m… confused, lost even.”

“If that’s how you really feel, then personally I support you.” Mahad placed a supportive hand on the crown prince’s shoulder. “Just don’t tell your father, and most of all don’t tell Seto unless you’re absolutely sure you’re ready. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

When Mahad had left him alone with his thoughts, Atem spoke aloud. “Don’t… tell Seto? I think… that maybe that’s for the best. There’s no way that he’d take it well.”

A few hours later, just as Atem had the notion to sleep, another one his friends entered the room in a panic – his retainer Isis. “Your Highness! Your Highness, flee from this place at once!”

“Eh? Why, did something happen?”

“There are monsters in the palace! Zombies, dragons – anything you can think of!”

“If that’s the case, then my father will take care of those miscreants abusing the Shadow Games.” The crown prince settled back into his bed.

“But His Majesty has gone missing!”

“What?” Atem sprung awake again, with the Pharaoh’s Incantation scroll in his hand. “Then we’ve got to look for him!”

“The pharaoh and his priests can fend for themselves! It’s us retainers that need your help!”

“My retainers… Oh, no, Seto!” Atem took off running as Isis struggled to keep up. I don’t care what happens to me… Seto… Oh gods, please be okay!

Atem ran right past the throne room, from where Isis yelled, “Your Highness! Over here!”

“Everyone!” Atem freaked out when he saw that at least a couple of his retainers were dead and a few were taking the injured to safety. Those who stayed behind attempted to fight off a giant, armour-clad lion. “But… what can I do?”

“Your Highness, you have to use the Shadow Games monsters!” Mahad dodged the lion’s attacks and launched a dark ball of energy at it. “It’s the only way!”

“And I know just the monster!”

“Ever the clever one, Your Highness! Best of luck!” One of the Atem’s retainers, Shada, took a severely injured retainer named Karim to one of the palace’s medical wards.

“Okay, let’s see if I can find the stone tablet that houses my Dark Magician…” Atem ran to the stone tablets. “Ah! I’ve found you! Now, I’ll use the Yami spell again to-”

“Your Highness!” a raspy voice called out. “Behind you!”

“Is that…” Atem had just summoned his Dark Magician, but not enough to save Seto, who took a large claw scratch for the crown prince. “Seto! Seto, you damned idiot! You should have just saved yourself!”

“I am your retainer, am I not?”

“I know, but… But… Someone, anyone!” In a final act of desperation, Atem shouted for help and thankfully got it when he heard an old man’s singing voice in the distance. “Father!”

“Aw usa ukari ag et onos!” Aknamkanon didn’t even need to sing the full incantation before the lion and all the surrounding enemies were no more. “Ugh…”

“Father!” Atem caught the pharaoh before he could pass out. “What’s wrong? Did that lion hurt you?”

“No, it’s the Incantation. Son, I forgot to tell you one thing – the Pharaoh’s Incantation uses some of your ba. But it’s a risk that you must be willing to take if you want to protect your people.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Atem led his father back to his bed while Seto followed.

“Yeah, with a little rest.” Aknamkanon peered up. “In the meantime, take Seto to a medical ward. That attack killed several palace guards and I don’t want to risk another one.”

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, I didn’t suffer much of a wound. As such, I can go myself.”

“But can you treat your own back?”

“Good point.” Seto left the throne room and beckoned for Atem to follow.

“That was an incredibly reckless thing to do, Seto. You could have used your Blue-Eyes White Dragon, but noooo! You just had to literally break your back for me!” Atem snarled while he fetched some alcohol and linens. When he turned around, he halted at the sight of a virtually nude Seto. Only his priest robes, balled up at his groin, covered his copper skin while he sat on the bed.

“Well? I’m waiting.” Seto’s voice was nonchalant. “I feel like I’m dying over here.”

“That’s not something you should be joking about!” Atem rushed over to Seto’s side to take a look. The claw wound on the priest’s back turned out to be hardly more than a scratch. “You ass! How could you be dying from such a small wound?”

“I figured it was the only way to get you over here, since you looked spaced out.” Seto didn’t even flinch when the alcohol entered his wound. “You got something on your mind?”

At this point, Atem didn’t really care if Seto found out about his feelings. “You… You could have died! Do you know how damned lucky you are to have survived that attack?”

“Your Highness…” Seto tried to touch Atem’s cheek, but the crown prince slapped his hand away.

“Why did you have to do that?” Atem didn’t bother to stop the tears from coming out. “If I had lost you, I…”

“You want to know that badly? Fine, then I’ll tell you.” Seto took a few breaths. “I’ve tried to deny it… I know you’ll hate me for this because of our royal positions. But Your Highness… Atem… I love you.”

Atem stopped crying. “What… did you say?”

“I’m not just talking about the familial, friendly kind of love, either.” Seto caressed Atem’s cheeks and lips. “I’m talking about this kind of love.”

“I’m so glad…” Atem’s expression softened as he returned this gesture. “I thought my feelings were unclean, but… But…”

“But…?”

Atem hid his face in Seto’s chest. “I’m in love with you too, Seto! I’m so happy that I don’t have to refuse these feelings anymore.”

“Atem…” Seto turned his caress into a deep kiss. “Oh, gods, Atem.”

“Seto…” The closer Seto held him, the more Atem could feel the other man’s erection. “Do you… want me?”

“If you’ll have me,” Seto answered as Atem stretched out on the bed, wiping away a bead of sweat.

Seto tossed his robes aside and kissed Atem’s neck – and for a few seconds, he disregarded all noise, including the sudden shout of, “Seto! Your Highness! Are you two… all… right…?”

“Ah!” Seto stopped his advances when the intruder appeared at the door. He frenetically tried to get dressed, knowing that it was futile to hide was he was doing just now. “Father! What are you doing here?”

“Hmph. So you decide to take advantage of a young war breaking out to seduce the crown prince?” Aknadin’s eyes hardened on his son. “You are a disgrace to the royal family and to the High Priests!”

“Father, please!” Seto tried to stop his father from leaving. “Don’t leave!”

“I’ve always hated that… that crown prince and that accursed Aknamkanon… Now I have all the more reason to leave the palace and find a newer dark power, so that I may become pharaoh!”

“Please!” Seto cried as his father disappeared. “Don’t join the enemy! Father!”

“Seto…” Atem crouched down at his boyfriend’s side. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.”

“No, it isn’t.” Seto held Atem’s hand firmly. “Nothing – nothing – will make me regret falling in love with you. This new enemy, though… If we have to fight them with my father on their side, then…”

“Then we’ll fight them together.”

While the two young lovers consoled each other, they were interrupted yet again – this time by Aknamkanon. “Atem! My son, what happened?”

“Father…” Atem arose, fully prepared to explain himself. “I’m afraid it’s something horrid. Aknadin, he’s… he’s deserted us and left to join the enemy, cursing your name while he did so.”

“What? But why?”

“It’s because he wanted the throne for himself all along. And… What finally drove him over the edge was when he discovered Seto and I getting intimate with one another.”

“Atem, why did you tell him that?” Seto clenched his teeth.

“That’s despicable,” Aknamkanon answered. “So he cursed his son just because said son can’t fulfill his ambitions now? That’s not a true father, but a snake.”

“But what about your future heirs?” Atem asked. “I’m sure you’ve noticed a long time ago that there’s a reason why I’ve refused every woman you’ve tried to marry me to.”

“Eh, I’ve got plenty of siblings, nieces, and nephews that can produce heirs. And even if they couldn’t, it’s not going to stop me from caring about you, my son.”

“Father…” Atem began to cry tears of joy. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes. The reason why I’m so strict with you is because I want the people to respect you for your leadership abilities, and not whom you choose as a partner.” Aknamkanon helped his son get back up on his feet. “Whatever happens… No matter what this mysterious enemy throws at us, I will support you and guide my people through this war.”

#yugioh #ygo #prideshipping #scandalshipping #fanfiction #priest seto x atem

[tigerkirby215]

5e Yuumi the Magical Cat build (and a test of Tumblr formatting)

So I have no idea how this website works but I mostly made this account to post DnD 5e character builds based on characters I like. Ever since the latest UA came out I’ve been ecstatic over the fact that we finally got another Support-based Warlock that isn’t Celestial. The fact that it’s a genie Warlock is awesome and there’s tons of roleplay that can be done with a pocket wish-granting elemental walking around with you... good thing we’re ignoring all that for the sake of B O O K!

Yuumi! To be honest I haven’t played League of Legends in ages but Yuumi was a character who drew my attention immediately because she’s an UwU Kitty-Cat... who had like a 36% win rate on release. She’s better now though! ...Probably. Regardless Yuumi was my immediate thought when I saw the tether mechanic from the latest Warlock UA. Constructing a build for The Magical 7th Item Slot Cat was something on my mind for the longest time, probably because the only other character I could replicate is... what? Io from DOTA?

I got the OK from Tulok the Barbrarian-senpai to make some DnD builds which is why I’m using his format. All these builds will keep away from Homebrew and can all be made on D&D Beyond... as long as your DM allows Unearthed Arcana which this build heavily relies on.

GOALS

Shield, heal, cuddle! - Yuumi is a support, through-and-through. Probably one of the most support-focused supports in the game. While this build will still have good damage output the main focus is on keeping your teammates alive and well.

Book, do something! - Yuumi is a dynamic duo between the cat and the book. Hopefully your DM is okay with you not really having a “patron” and instead having a sentient book fly around instead. I mean, it’s basically just a Hexblade right?

Lost Chapter - Yuumi honestly has a pretty basic kit. Replicating 4 spells is easy as cake in 5e so a lot of this build will be focused on replicating Yuumi’s typical item build as well.

RACE

Well as you can tell Yuumi is clearly a Bugbe-Ah who am I kidding she’s a Tabaxi. You’re welcome to pick whatever race you want but Tabaxi is honestly a good pick for this build. You get an increase to both DEX and CHA, some useful skills (be sure to ward bush!), and probably the most important skill: Feline Agility. Much like Yuumi you don’t want to be caught off-guard so a quick self-use of Zoomies can help you get away from the enemy and back to your team. For your language of choice... is Yordle an option? Halfling is probably the closest you’ll get to Yordles in 5e so just opt for that instead.

ABILITY SCORES

Much like Tulok I’ll be using Standard Array for ease-of-use. Roll for stats if you want but this is a general guideline for where to put your highs and lows.

15; CHARISMA - You’re cute, cuddly, and oh-so snuggly. Yuumi in-lore is an innate spellcaster and that translates into Charisma; helps that this also impacts Persuasion for head scritches.

14; DEXTERITY - Yuumi isn’t the fastest champion in-game (it’s on Book to do the “walking”) but she’s still a cat, and cats are fast. Dexterity affects AC as well as several other useful things.

13; INTELLIGENCE - Your best friend is literally a floating book it’s bound to know something.

12; WISDOM - You’re a smart kitty and you know a thing or two about Yordles... doesn’t stop you from dissing everyone else though.

10; CONSTITUTION - It’s technically in-character to dump Constitution but I don’t recommend it. Intelligence and Wisdom are higher on this list but you don’t really need them - feel free to get some Ruby Crystals.

8; STRENGTH - Here’s something that’s in-character to dump and I do recommend dumping. Strength is almost completely redundant in this build so don’t be afraid to ditch it.

This would be the point array I’d use if I was RPing Yuumi but if I wanted a more functional character I’d go CHA / DEX / CON / (INT / WIS) / STR for my stat spread. But much like in League you’re more than welcome to buy some health boosting items (notably an Amulet of Health) to compensate for bad stats.

BACKGROUND

Yuumi spent most of her time in Nora her master’s hut which would technically make her a Cloistered Scholar? But Sage works better if you’re teaming up with Book. You gain Arcana and History proficiencies which are honestly the two I’d pick for a magic cat that has a sentient Book as a best friend. You also get the Researcher feature which lets you know where to find any information: Book knows everything and can bring you anywhere - ask them to tell you where to go! You also get two languages and... uhhh who synergizes well with Yuumi? ...Yasuo? Is there a monkey language in 5e? Jokes aside just pick whatever language you think will be useful.

(Art by EmeraldParrot on DeviantArt)

THE BUILD

This may come as a surprise but despite the fact that this build was made almost entirely for the sake of using the new UA Warlock patron we’re actually not starting with Warlock! While half of Yuumi’s power comes from Book (who I’d consider the “patron” in this relationship) the other half of her power is innate. Now I could make her a Sorcerer to reflect the magic within her or I could perhaps make her a Wizard to get more value out of Book but I had to ask myself a question: which class in D&D would be the best for a character who regularly insults and sasses other characters and thinks too highly of themselves?

LEVEL 1 - BARD 1

Yes this build is a Bardlock build, and the only reason we’re going Bard first is for the extra music instruments as well as the choice of any skill we want.

Your choice of instrument doesn’t matter much (it’s mildly important for Instruments of the Bard or if you have an Artificer, but other than that don’t worry) but I’m contractually obligated to take a Lyre every time I make a Bard. Other than that you synergize with Yasuo so steal his Flute, and I’ve always been a fan of Pentakill so I’ll take the closest to a guitar. (Lute)

For skills take Acrobatics, Persuasion, and Survival. You’re a cat which means you need to be quick on your feet and are adorable as hecc, and you need some survival instinct when you’re constantly hopping between dimensions. (Truthfully though as a Bard you should be picking skills that your party lacks, though I’d argue that Acrobatics and Persuasion should always be taken to remain “in character.”)

For cantrips take Message to coordinate with your party in team chat and Vicious Mockery; Yuumi is a cat of sass so feel free to diss your local god by calling him a dog. Or alternatively this could be you flaming the enemy team in /all - I won’t judge.

Cure Wounds and Healing Word are absolute musts for any support - in particular Cure Wounds is good for you since you can cast it from wherever your You and Me (tether) target is located. This means that whoever you’re tethered to can get the full value of Cure Wounds instead of you being forced to pop Healing Word instead. Other than that Longstrider lets you replicate Zoomies’ movement speed boost, and you can never go wrong with Featherfall. (The only spells that are really “mandatory” here is Cure Wounds. Maybe Longstrider too. Healing Word is always useful but both it and Featherfall are just suggestions.)

LEVEL 2 - WARLOCK 1

And from Bard we immediately jump to the meat of this build: The Noble Genie Warlock! You get your Collector’s Vessel which hopefully your DM will let be a book with cat-sized portals inside of it?

You also get some cantrips and guess what? Eldrich Blast! Yeah it’s a Warlock build you’re going to take Eldrich Blast. Other than that take Minor Illusion to pull something scary out of Book at the right time.

For main spells Hex is great to deal extra damage and also lets you debuff some of the target’s ability checks. Sleep is more of a Zoe thing but it’s still an insane pact-specific spell so there’s no reason not to take it.

LEVEL 3 - WARLOCK 2

We’re going to keep going in Warlock firstly for Eldrich Invocations. The main one you want here is Lance of Lethargy so you can replicate Prowling Projectile’s movement speed slow and help set up some kills for your team. The other invocation slot will be left open for now as we wait for level 4, as will our spell choice.

LEVEL 4 - WARLOCK 3

Hello Book! Of course we’re taking Pact of the Tome for the Book of Thresholds Shadows, or just Book for short. Again be sure to ask your DM if the book can be sentient for RP purposes. Or alternatively have it not act be sentient and make your party think your crazy when you talk to it! As for cantrips take Guidance to buff your ADC with some Adaptive Force (note: Guidance will not increase damage), Mending to fix any tears Book may receive (don’t want any more lost chapters!), and even though you’re not really a melee fighter being able to magically scratch nearby champions enemies with Shocking Grasp will give you a fighting chance if you get stuck in the middle of combat.

Note: While it would be more in flavor to use Primal Savagery the reason I opted for Shocking Grasp is because you can cast it through your ally to cause an enemy to be unable to take Reactions. It’s more in flavor to scratch at your enemies but Shocking Grasp is far more useful for this build. Truthfully you can take any cantrip you want though these are just recommendations; I know having 3 damaging cantrips is a little excessive but I like having an attack roll cantrip, saving throw cantrip, and backup melee cantrip.

Now for the Invocation we skipped. I think most 5e veterans have identified what we’re looking for: Book of Ancient Secrets. Book is a resourceful... book and the value of Ritual spells can’t go unmentioned. Take Comprehend Languages and Identify: flip through Book’s pages until you can find the info that you want! And don’t be afraid about picking bad rituals because you can just inscribe more rituals later on!

Now for Spells! Once we get to 2nd level spells we get a lot more stuff to choose from but let’s just choose the main spells we need:

Misty Step - You’re a noob if you’re not packing Flash. Also since this is a multiclass build the problem of Misty Step taking Pact Magic slots can be negated, as you can use your Bard slots to cast Misty Step.

Hold Person - Hit a snare with Final Chapter so your friends can clean up!

Truthfully though all your 2nd level spells open up a huge array of possibilities and I’d recommend picking up any one of them. The Noble Genie gets Enlarge / Reduce which is one of my favorite spells thematically: feel free to pop an Elixir of Iron on your tank!

LEVEL 5 - BARD 2

Feel free to take Warlock 4 for the ASI but I’d like to get the Bard features up-and-running. At level 2 you get Jack of All Trades which means that Book can always help you out of a jam. You also get Song of Rest which further solidifies your role as a support.

For your spell of choice Charm Person lets you use that cute kitty face of yours to get a bunch of fan art on DeviantArt.

LEVEL 6 - BARD 3

Let’s start by picking out our Expertise because that’s the easy bit: Arcana and History - straight from your background. You’re a magic cat with a sentient book you should know these skills well.

Now for your Bard College. There are several good choices: Lore gives you more Magical Secrets to let you “itemize” better, College of Valor lets you buff your allies’ attacks with some Adaptive Force, but at the end of the day the question is this: what subclass lets you shield while also increasing your allies’ movement?

College of Glamour yes really! The main reason for this is Mantle of Inspiration which was the most Yuumi-esque ability of the bunch. You can expect a Bardic Inspiration die to give all your allies temporary HP as well as allow them to move as a reaction without provoking opportunity attacks. You also get Enthralling Performance which is certainly a nice bonus: distract a crowd with your feline charm while the rest of your team does their work.

You also get another spell and... I’ll be honest throwing all the spells on this guide is making this post far longer than it needs to be. I can give some general advice but I’m only here for the class features - not the spells. Pick spells that will help your team, the same way you’d itemize to help your team in League.

LEVEL 7 - BARD 4

Mostly taking Level 4 Bard now for the ASI. Bump Charisma for better spellcasting.

You also get another cantrip: get Dancing Lights to summon some moon moths to chase!

Note: One more level in Bard will get you Font of Inspiration, which allows your Bardic Inspiration to come back on a Short rest. It will also buff Mantle of Inspiration. If you think you’ll need to use Mantle of Inspiration more feel free to take another level in Bard earlier than suggested in this build.

LEVEL 8 - WARLOCK 4

And another ASI! Bump Charisma again for a maxed out spellcasting modifier!

LEVEL 9 - WARLOCK 5

At this level you get another Invocation as well as 3rd level spells. There are quite a few good invocations to pick from but as a squishy support you’re going to want Zhonya's - or in this case Tomb of Levistus. While not quite Zhonya's this invocation will give you a phat health buff in exchange for making you completely stationary until the end of your next turn. Pop it if the enemy Assassin ults you and pray that your team saves you.

Now that you got 3rd level spells there are some obvious choices. Counterspell? Fly? Maybe Dispell Magic or Gaseous Form? Honestly if your DM is allowing UA spells Psionic Blast from the psychic UA works great with the Genie patron. Those are my picks for some good level 3 spells - unfortunately the spells from the Genie Patron aren’t that good besides maybe Create Food and Water, which is only really useful for specific adventures.

Oh and you get another cantrip! I’d recommend Prestidigitation to pull more things out of Book.

LEVEL 10 - WARLOCK 6

This is the point that this build really starts to shine through. Is it bad that this build needs to get to level 10 before it really starts working? ...Eh...?

Anyways you get Elemental Resistance at this level which lets you give your You and Me (tether) target resistance to one of four elements. You can only choose one resistance per long rest so try to pick the damage type you think you’ll run into a lot. Pro tip: Fire damage is really common. Ignite is a powerful Summoner Spell.

LEVEL 11 - WARLOCK 7

At this level you get access to Level 7 invocations which are all... ehhhh? There are some cool ones here but none of them are really great for Yuumi so instead we’re going to go back a bit and pick up Exhaustion. ...The Summoner Spell, not the D&D debuff. Mire the Mind lets you cast Slow once per long rest: slow is a really powerful spell that you can pop on the ADC so your team can wail on them. Just make sure you don’t lose concentration.

You also get access to 4th level spells and while this is technically a spell Lulu has: Polymorph! Turn your allies into T-Rexes, turn your enemies into Fish (don’t try to eat the fish or they’ll turn back), and most importantly you can now become an actual cat! Truthfully though there are several great 4th level spells too and I recommend you look at all of them.

LEVEL 12 - WARLOCK 8

Ability Score Improvement but you should have max spellcasting by now which is the only thing that matters so... how about some Feats? I’m not going to choose any one particular Feat and instead focus on some of the better ones for you to take.

Alert - Along with Jack of All Trades this will almost always guarantee that you’re the first to go in initiative, meaning that you can tether to someone and start applying buffs.

Inspiring Leader - Lets you use Bop and Block early and give all your allies a nice health buffer to start the day.

Observant - With your Charisma and your proficiency buffing your Perception score this should guarantee that you don’t miss anything with those feline eyes of yours. Be sure to ping incoming ganks!

Resilient (CON) - You don’t really need the other effects of War Caster in this build and Resilient is just more useful overall.

Spell Sniper - Read this spell over and ask “does this sound useful?” If yes then take it, because you’re in a game with a DM who actually likes using cover mechanics.

Tough - Yuumi isn’t tough; that doesn’t mean you can’t be.

Lucky - When in doubt break out the OP bullshit perk.

You also get another spell: Dimension Door lets you recall back to base or somewhere similar.

LEVEL 13 - WARLOCK 9

At Warlock 9 you get access to another invocation, including your 9th level invocations and... oh oh there it is boys! Ascendant Step! Now you can be a proper hovering kitty cat! (Note if you took Fly at earlier levels it might be a good idea to drop it. Or not: you can still buff your allies!)

You also gain access to 5th level spells and here’s where it gets fun: Bigby’s Hand! Honestly this is just a fun spell but you can also justify most of the effects as being part of Yuumi (and Book)’s magic.

Clenched Fist - A full damage Prowling Projectile against a target.

Forceful Hand - More of a Janna thing but still very useful.

Grasping Hand - Hit your snare with Final Chapter. "I am TOTALLY doing this!"

Interposing Hand - Again more of a Taliyah thing (or perhaps Jarvan) but still very useful!

This would be my immediate pick but other than that for 5th level?

Creation is your other patron-specific spell and it is awesome. A little situational maybe but that’s the nature of Book! Pull out something useful: unfortunately it can’t be fish but still!

Hold Monster is like Hold Person but better. It’s a big spell slot though so be wary.

Synaptic Static is like a combination of Leona and Alistar, which is to say it’s a big nuke from the sky that makes all your enemies do less damage.

Contact Other Plane is not my first pick for a number of reasons but if you don’t know what to pick being able to ask Book for directions can be helpful. And it comes back on a short rest too! :) Just make sure Book doesn’t break your mind. (Maybe invest in the Resilient feat for Intelligence if you plan to use this spell.)

(Artwork by sakkiye on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 14 - WARLOCK 10

And now we’ve reached the capstone of our Warlock levels and we get two very powerful abilities. Firstly there’s Protective Wish which lets you use your reaction to swap places between you and your tethered target if either of you get hit. Tank hits for your allies... or alternatively don’t do that and have them shield you from baddies trying to spray you! Just make sure that you aren’t teleporting into a more dangerous location and as a word of advice: don’t throw your allies into danger without their consent.

The other ability you get is Genie’s Entertainment which is far more useful. As an action you can make Book pull a target within 90 feet to a harmless dimension where they’ll be stuck for up to a minute. They can make a Charisma saving throw every turn until they either succeed or a minute passes before they’re ejected where they just were or in the closest available space. This is effectively a one-time use of the Banishment spell (which you can take as a Warlock) but it doesn’t require Concentration which means you can put your focus on other useful buffs for your team.

You also get another cantrip so invest in Mage Hand so Book can pick up things you can’t reach with those paws of yours.

LEVEL 15 - BARD 5

And now we’re bouncing back to Bard and finally getting Font of Inspiration. Honestly if you need more use out of Mantle of Inspiration then feel free to get this level earlier, but you already have plenty of short rest value with your Warlock spell slots.

And speaking of spells: 3rd level Bard spells, anyone? I’d argue that Sending would be quite in-flavor, and Hypnotic Pattern would make for a strong utility, even if you don’t have an AoE stun. Honestly I’m going to skip the spell talk and only cover the last few levels of Bard for completion’s sake.

LEVEL 16 - BARD 6

You now get Countercharm which is poo poo garbage and will make you want to die. But to be fair popping cleanse would help your ADC. (But why are you bringing Cleanse and not Exhaust?)

You also get Mantle of Majesty which will let you play the backseat gamer role you’ve always dreamed of being. As a bonus action you can start to command (the spell) anyone you please to do as you say. Approach, Drop, Flee, Halt... awn there’s not Pet command!

LEVEL 17 - BARD 7

At 7th level you get... nothing! :D Okay you get 4th level spells to be fair but I’m far too lazy to talk about spells anymore.

LEVEL 18 - BARD 8

ASI. Check my suggestions for Feats to take from Warlock 8.

LEVEL 19 - BARD 9

Your Song of Rest increases to a d8 now which honestly probably doesn’t help you much at this point. You do get 5th level spells now though, which you can cast through your Warlock slots.

LEVEL 20 - BARD 10

And for our capstone we finally get Magical Secrets! There’s one specific spell we want: Haste. It’s super zoomies! Other than that you can buy Redemption with Aura of Vitality (which kinda works more like Fiora’s ult but w/e) or maybe an Ardent Censor of sorts with Spirit Guardians? You can grab Mikael's Crucible with Warding Bond, or perhaps contract some help from Zillian and grab Death Ward! There are literally dozens of spells to choose from and I recommend searching online if you don’t know what to take.

Your Bardic Inspiration also increases which means more Mantle of Inspiration health, and you get 2 more skills to give Expertise! Honestly at level 20 it’s a little too late to really choose between Expertise but know that any skill you have Expertise in will have a +12 modifier! You’re essentially guaranteed to succeed at any check with a skill you have Expertise on at this level unless your DM is Twisted Fate and is using Loaded Dice on you.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Cover to Cover - You’ve got a comedic amount of utility between ten cantrips and the ability to cast any ritual spell you can get your paws on. Along with Jack of All Trades and Expertise covering any skills you may need you’ll never be without a cat trick.

You and me, we got this! - Between Bardic Inspiration, Song of Rest, Elemental Resistance, Protective Wish, and a decent array of buff spells (tbh I kinda wish I took more :P) you can be an incredibly useful asset to your teammates.

You look like unscratched furniture! - One place this build particularly excels is in the crowd control department. Between Enthralling Performance, Mantle of Majesty, Genie’s Entertainment, and a huge array of debuffs you’ll never be lacking in a way to keep your allies safe and the enemies away from you.

CONS

Oh! Sunbeam ahead! - While I tried my best to avoid taking too many Concentration spells I have to admit that a lot of the nicer stuff will demand your attention: Hold Person, Haste, Polymorph, Bigby’s Hand, and Mire the Mind (Slow) all require concentration, so you can only have one up at a time. While you still have options the concentration requirement is heavy.

We’ve got 6 left... or was it 5? - If you’re roleplaying the build properly you’ll have absolutely horrendous health. No additional Constitution modifier combined with a d8 hit die means that you’ll have about a hundred health at level 20, and a Power Word Kill is all it’ll take to end you. Additionally your ability modifiers (with the exception of Charisma) are rather low which means low saving throws and a low AC with only Light armor. Know that you can sometimes sacrifice roleplay for the sake of a more viable build - having good skill checks is great and all but it doesn’t matter if you’re dead.

Full AP? - This build is pure support and I skipped on a lot of the strong damage options that you could’ve taken. In particular this is a max Charisma Eldritch Blast Warlock which doesn’t take Agonizing Blast, a concept most would consider an act of treason. A lot of the invocations I picked more for flavor than actual utility and you’re more than welcome to change Mire the Mind or Tomb of Levistus for something more useful.

But you’re not here to steal all the fame: tag along, help your team, and they’ll help you find your master! Just don’t ask the Triton what they taste like or else they’ll give you the spray bottle.

(Artwork by Chelserella on DeviantArt.)

ALTERNATE BUILD OPTIONS

More Warlock Levels?

The only thing we really get out of level 10 Bard is Magical Secrets, but if you’re not interested in getting Haste all you really need for this build is 3 levels in Bard for Mantle of Inspiration (though 5 levels is ideal for Font of Inspiration.)

You can take more levels in Warlock to get Mystic Arcanum, more Warlock slots, and more Eldritch Invocations. You also get Collector’s Call which is a very strong ability that’s sadly held back by its casting requirement. If you’re planning on going heavier on Warlock instead of splitting this build 50 / 50 than get expertise in Persuasion! You’re absolutely going to need it to cast Collector’s Call reliably.

The other important thing to note is that Warlock honestly doesn’t have that many supportive spells in its kit, especially when you’re not playing Divine Soul. Dropping Bard levels means you’ll lose spells like Mass Cure Wounds. You’ll also have far fewer spell slots to cast your lower level Warlock spells, which does mean more 5th level spells but it also means less fun with spells like Misty Step, Dimension Door, and Polymorph.

#dnd 5e #dnd build #dnd guide #dnd multiclass #unearthed arcana #league of legends #lol yuumi

[barnesnmrnoble]

The Little Things

Main Masterlist - Clint Barton Masterlist - 

Bucky is still a bit hesitant to be open about his relationship with Clint. He loves him but privacy is hard to come by as an Avenger and Bucky wants to keep some of his life private. 

Alternatively, Clint is a lovesick puppy that cannot, and will not stop staring at Bucky’s ass.

Word Count: 2892

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton (Winterhawk)

Warnings: None, just lots of fluff

A/n: I hope you all enjoy! If you do, leave a like and a reblog or comment! I’d love to hear what you think and honestly I need the validation. (Mistakes are mine!)

Read on AO3!

It’s the age of technology and social media, and as Bucky was coming to understand, that all meant little to no privacy. Of course, his status as an Avenger (and the newest addition) meant even less privacy. He understood that the public wanted to know what the avengers got up to in between saving the world, that they wanted to be apart of the lives they lead but there were parts of himself he didn’t want to be public information. So, in order to keep a semblance of privacy, Bucky pulled out the best of his spy skills to keep this piece of him, private. 

He hates the way his heart clenches with sadness as he throws back the covers of the immensely comfortable bed, and maybe that’s because of who is in the bed, not the bed itself, but either way he hates leaving. There is a groan that sounds from beneath the mound of covers, a pair of hands reaching out to reach for the last vestiges of warmth left by him. The sun is just high enough to reach over the tree line on the edge of the compound. He is cutting it closer and closer each day, he really should’ve left an hour ago but he couldn’t force himself to do so, but he has at least left himself enough time to sneak back to his room before Steve is up for his morning run. 

He’s shucking his pants up his legs, pulling on a shirt he is 98% sure is his when he hears the loud whine from behind him, “Baby, don’t go.” Bucky rolls his eyes, but does relent (because how could he resist that?) and crawls back in the bed. He’s careful to not slip beneath the covers, if he does he really won’t leave. --And then the whole relationship will be out in the open, and they really aren’t ready for that. Well, Bucky doesn’t think he is.-- “Clint,” His tone is warning, there isn’t any heat behind it, just a reminder of why he has to leave without actually saying it. “Stay.” Clint whispers the word into Bucky’s neck, wrapping his arms around Bucky and clinging to him, trying to persuade him to stay today. (Like it’d take anything more than his pouty face. Bucky is a sap.)

“Let them find out. Don’t you think it’s time?” Careful fingers brushed back Bucky’s hair, pushing it back behind his ear with a delicate touch that no one with arms like him should be able to do. Bucky huffed out a sigh. It probably was time, he wanted to be the one to hand Clint his coffee in the morning, be the one to kiss him after that first sip and taste the bitterness of his coffee on his lips. He wanted to curl into Clint’s arms and tangle their legs during movie nights, he wanted to be able to dance around the kitchen making dinner with the man he loved. He wanted all of it. But there was a part of him that was still afraid, that had held onto the idea that loving a man was not okay, and it wasn’t that he was afraid of what the team would think, Steve had known pretty much as long as Bucky did and it had never changed anything. He was just afraid that if they were privy to the information, so would the public. 

It was just a little more than he was ready for, and he just couldn’t let himself lose one of the few things that made him happy. (They were a bit hard to come by these days.) And bless Clint, the man was so understanding of it all. He just kissed Bucky soundly, seeing his emotions cross his face like he was reading an open book. “It’s okay if you don’t. We can wait until you’re ready. No issue.” God, Bucky can’t put into words how much love he has for Clint. His head drops against Clint’s collar bone, and Clint can feel his smile, feel his teeth nip at the skin in a silent thanks. He likes the feeling of them like this, soft and warm and sleepy and he really does wish Bucky would stay, but he knows what it’s like to want to keep that part hidden, to be afraid of people’s opinions. So, he doesn’t push because if people know, or they don’t know doesn’t change the fact that he loves Bucky with everything in him. Nothing would ever change that.

---

He laughs a little to himself when Bucky comes down to the kitchen the next morning. His hair is pulled into a higher than normal bun, pieces falling out, which is really un-fucking-fair because Bucky knows how hot Clint is for the bun. He just wants to sink his fingers into it, and kiss him until his lips are red and swollen and he has that punch drunk haze in his eyes. But it’s not just his hair that has Clint stifling his urges to just take Bucky right then and there.

 It’s everything about him.

Cause apparently Bucky Barnes wanted to be an asshole this morning and make Clint have to awkwardly shuffle from the room and take an ice cold shower. He also threw on the black joggers that cling to his ass like a second skin -- You could seriously bounce a quarter of it, okay?-- and makes Clint want to do nothing but bite into it. (Yeah, Steve has America’s ass? Clint strongly disagrees about that, but then again… he might be a little bit biased.) But then to make matters worse for Clint, he wore a new smedium t-shirt, that stretched across him like it was about to bust at the seams. And for god sakes, it was purple. 

He was going to fucking die. 

--

“Where the hell is Barton? He better not be late again.” Even as one of the most consistently tardy people known to the human race, Tony is still annoyed because Clint hasn’t made it downstairs yet and Tony just wants to go to this gala and have a peaceful night. (Which wasn’t going to happen, but hey a man could dream.) Bucky offers to go get Clint’s ass in gear, extra emphasis on the ass. Well, at least in his mind. He’s been dressed and ready to go for hours, nerves coursing through him all night because he did something for Clint, it’s a really little thing but it’s another small step into him gaining the confidence to come out with their relationship. Baby steps, right?

He doesn’t even bother knocking on Clint’s door. Honestly, he doesn’t think  he’s done anything of the sort for the last 6 months of their 7 month relationship. Clint is standing next to his bed, looking fine as hell and a little more. He finishes buttoning his last button before he looks up, but promptly collapses back to the bed when he sees Bucky. “Good god, Buck. You try’na kill me?” Bucky looks at him innocently, like he doesn’t know he is wearing yet another pair of black pants that stretch across his ass like they were painted on. But then he sees the deep purple, almost black tie he is wearing, and Clint can feel his eyes morphing into hearts. To be completely fair, Bucky is looking at him the same way, but they are both lovesick puppies so, whatever. 

Clint makes to grumble about why he was late, moving to pull Bucky in for a kiss, grabbing at his wrists but stops with wide eyes. Which, it freaks Bucky out a little lot and he thinks he’s messed something up. But he hasn’t, not even in the slightest. Clint doesn’t form the words, can’t really, so he just kisses his boyfriend and runs his fingers over the bow and arrow cufflinks Bucky was surprising him with. It’s a little reminder that they are together, a subtle nod to them even though Bucky hasn’t found the courage to come out with it yet. He is getting there, though. 

Clint breaks away rather abruptly and Bucky gives him a sad puppy look. Since knowing Clint, it has gotten much better and nobody has been able to resist it. Especially not Clint. So he runs back to Bucky and presses a chaste kiss to his lips and. “Hold on just one second. Okay?” Bucky nods and watches with a find smile as Clint goes racing back into his closet. Clint comes out with a new tie on and it’s black and white plaid, his tie clip red with a simple black star on it. 

And yeah, they end up being pretty late, but they blame it on issues with his suit, even though the only issue with his suit was getting it back on in hurry. (And traffic because Tony’d gotten so annoyed he left them to take a cab by themselves.)

--

It’s been a hell of a week, and Bucky is exhausted, even if he’s downed at least 3 pots of the extra caffeinated coffee Stark buys. And yet, despite his best efforts to wriggle out of it for a week, Tony has demanded mandatory attendance at this weeks movie night. Nobody knows why, but he’d threatened anyone who skipped out would be relegated to cooking and cleaning for the next week. So, yeah Bucky was here because nobody wanted to clean up after a team dinner night. It was like cleaning up after 3 Thanksgiving dinners.

But the movie hasn’t even officially started yet and he can feel his eyes drooping. Luckily for him, he is smashed between Clint and Steve, so if he falls asleep it wouldn’t look weird if he fell onto Clint’s shoulder. And he does, his head bows about 30 seconds in, once Tony hits play. Unluckily for Clint, his head lulls over to Steve’s shoulder. He tries to not be disappointed, schooling his face so he doesn’t show his hurt. He debates “accidentally” elbowing Bucky so he wakes up and Clint can shift so that Bucky is leaning more towards him and will fall onto his shoulder.

 Fortunately for Clint, Steve pushes Bucky’s head from his shoulder, shooting Clint a look, asking him if it’s okay to move Bucky to his shoulder because he is making Steve hot. Clint just nods and tries not to smile and rest his head against Bucky’s when he shifts a little and nuzzles his face into Clint’s shoulder. 

--

Bucky doesn’t remember how he got to bed last night, he doesn’t remember anything but Steve pushing him down to the common area to the movie night, so he didn’t bail out. He is still incredibly tired, barely enough energy to open his eyes but when he does, he notices he is in fact not in his room, but Clint’s. He isn’t mad about it. What he is mad about, is the absence of his boyfriend in the bed. He rolls over with a huff, he just wants his early morning cuddles. Sappy, he knows. The issue is that its not early morning. It’s not even morning anymore. Bucky balks at the clock on his beside table, red numbers displaying a time of 12:07pm. Shit. 

There is no way he can get from Clint’s room to his own without being seen. Everybody is up and about at this time, and even with Friday’s help, he wouldn’t be able to avoid everyone. Well. he could maybe use Clint’s favorite tactic of evasion, using the vents could work but he’d have to crawl over Steve and Natasha’s rooms and he can’t crawl through there without a sound like Clint can. So, that’s not an option. 

Shit.

He heads to the bathroom to fix his bedhead hair, he could probably think of a plausible lie as to why he spent the night in Clint’s room. Nightmares, maybe? Yeah, he could say nightmares because it doesn’t invite a lot of questions and it’s a universal understanding that you don’t push for answers. He throws it up into that high bun he knows Clint likes, again letting the stray pieces fall forward. He heads back out and pulls on his discarded sweats from last night and snatched his shirt off the floor, pulling it over his head. He curses himself for not putting the shirt on first because now he has to redo his bun or it’s going to look like he’s got sex hair. And that’ll definitely invite a lot of unwanted questions. 

He heads for the door, chuckles a bit to himself when he sees a folded piece of paper stabbed to the wall with an arrow. “I’m making breakfast this morning, your favorite. ;) (also, sorry about your shirt.) -CB” Bucky makes a face at the last little bit. What the hell happened to his shirt? Also, wasn’t he wearing his shirt? A quick look proves he is fact not wearing his shirt and had picked up Clint’s (He is unashamed of his ownership of this shirt) purple target and paw prints t-shirt and Bucky’s shirt is in shreds in the trash can, but he can still still a few pieces on Lucky’s bed. Damn, good thing he loves that dog.  

It’s that turn of events that finally clicks it in Bucky’s head. He tosses the arrow on the bed, tucks the note into his pocket and thinks “Fuck it.”. He walks down to the kitchen with a pep in his step, a new confidence and a little bit of adrenaline at his decision. When he rounds the corner, he almost chickens out. He sees the whole team gathered around the island counter waiting patiently for Clint to flip the pancakes onto their plates. Nobody is actually standing next to him, it became a game to see if Clint could always make it to the plate. (He always did. No surprise there.) But that explained why Tony was running to the far side of the room with his plate. Get him in the right mood and he was like a kid, it was kind of sweet. 

Bucky takes another deep breath, and walks across the room with the same purpose he did walking to the kitchen. Tasha is the only one to spare a glance at him, murmuring a soft, “Oh, murder strut.” Bucky can clearly hear it and just rolls his eyes. He is on a mission and doesn’t care about anything else but Clint right now. Clint, is still flipping pancakes and pouring new batter into the pan, completely oblivious to the hulking man barreling at him. He only becomes aware when his coffee cup is taken out of his hand and placed in the counter, he drops his spatula to yell at whoever would dare take away his cup of coffee while he was making them breakfast but he never makes it that far. 

Bucky grabs his chin with a deceivingly soft and gentle grip, and pulls his gaze to look at him and before Clint has even a moment to process the chain of events Bucky’s lips are on his. Soft and warm and pouring every ounce of his feeling into it. He licks at Clint’s bottom lip, tugging at it when Clint digs his hands into his bun, messing with it and pulling on the short hairs at the back of his neck. Clint, himself, takes a moment to go into action, his brain a little frozen with the sudden lack of blood flow to it, everything quickly directing south. 

He pulls back after a minute, (a legitimate minute) kissing Bucky’s nose once and placing his hands on his hips before stepping back to gauge Bucky’s reaction. He knows this was a big moment for him, that he’d been building up to this for a long while. Clint just wants to make sure this was actually what he wanted, not they could really go back now. Bucky seemed to pick up on it and gave a slight nod and a blindly bright smile. Clint’s actually pretty sure it’s the biggest smile Bucky’s ever had. He preens at the fact he was the reason for it. It’s a tender moment between the two of them, and Clint can see that Bucky is also holding himself a little taller, a little bit of a weight lifted from his shoulders.

A moment like this, sweet and tender, never lasts long here. And it’s of course Tony, still one the opposite side of the room, who breaks it. “Fucking finally. I thought you’d never stop sneaking around.” Clint laughs at that, of course they knew. And Bucky, well, he blanches a little. “You guys knew?” Steve’s laughing now, he smacks Bucky upside the head but then brings it down to rest on his shoulder. “Well, you guys weren’t exactly subtle. I knew the minute you wore that purple shirt for the first time. You’ve never worn purple in your life, Buck.” 

Bucky chuckles a little bit now, his tension easing again and his eyebrows raising, “That’s fair.” He doesn’t even try to contain the whine when Clint steps away from him, his hands leaving Bucky’s hips. He runs over to a closet nearby, and comes back tossing things at everyone. 

“Have some earplugs everybody. I’m gonna go fuck my boyfriend now.”

#winterhawk #Clint Barton #deaf clint barton #deaf!clint barton #deaf clint #Clint Barton x Bucky Barnes #Clint x Bucky #fluff #marvel fanfiction

[shewas-agaystripper]

The Clinic: Part Sixteen

The Clinic: Part Sixteen

Brian is sent off to Queen Mary's Psychiatric Hospital to cure his depression and borderline. His roommates, John in particular, help him push through this difficult time in his life

Hello dear people! It’s been a while since the last part part of The Clinic was uploaded, which has mainly to do with the fact that my original blog of six years was deteled by Tumblr without any sign or warning, and they would not react to any mails so I had to start all over; and two weeks into waiting for them to reply my laptop broke down and I had to take it back to the store. They said it would take 3-4 days to fix it but it took 18 so that was great! However, I now have my laptop back, and I have a new blog (with basically the same name but different dashes). Please feel free to talk to me and shoot me messages! I’m feeling kind of lonely on my new blog still :s

Anyway! The good news is that I finished Part 16 on an alternative laptop, and Part 17 will be finished before the end of the week also, and will follow suit! 

Have fun reading, and any sort of feedback or suggestions is appreciated!

P.s. Normally I’d link all the previous chapters here, but as SOMEONE @staff) deleted my whole entire blog, they’re now gone. If you haven’t read the previous chapters yet, or would like to reread them first, here is the whole thing on my AO3 account!

‘We’ll see you tomorrow, then, in doctor Imholz’ office. Try and fill in as much of this paperwork already, and make sure to be on time.’

With that, a stack of files, and a handshake from each of the individuals present in the dusty but surprisingly spacious staff meeting room, Brian was given permission to leave the room, and he all but stumbled outside. When he closed the door behind him, he could not help but lean against it with his back, close his eyes, and take a deep breath - something he felt like he had been unable to do for the past two hours. 

After having announced to Nolan and doctor Imholz the evening before that he intended to file for a reassessment to try and be dismissed from Queen Mary’s for the sake of being able to support John when he was released, his mentor had called together what they had called a crisis meeting in which staff discussed the viability of Brian’s wish to be released before. It had been a long and stressful meeting, one in which Brian had largely been left to sit back and let people he’d never been aware were responsible for his progress throw technical terms and mental jargon at each other. He had hardly been asked to explain his reasons for wanting to leave Queen Mary’s so soon, but the overall consensus in the end was that they would grant his wish for a reassessment. That was - he had been at Queen Mary’s for at least three months; had never perpetrated any acts of disobedience, vandalism, violence, and the like; had never skipped any meetings with his superiors; had always displayed what Nolan had called ‘proper and respectable behaviour towards staff and patients’, and, borderline or not, he was deemed capable enough to make his own decisions and understanding the consequences of them. 

Thank God. At least they still treated him as human despite the label they had stuck on him.

‘How’d it go?’

Brian recognised the voice of the speaker sooner than he saw him, even though he should have been able to see him from - as a matter of speaking - miles away. Being one of the few patients with long blond hair, Roger always stood out a bit; but now that he was the only one to be seen in the otherwise empty hallway, let alone that he was leaning against the wall right across from Brian, really made hi unmistakeable to Brian, even now that his mind was spinning like a whirlwind. 

‘Eh… I think it went alright?’ Brian said somewhat hesitantly. ‘They said I meet the, uh, qualifications to apply for a reassessment.’

‘And?’ Roger asked, eyes brightening with hope but still a bit cautious, as he, of course, had no idea what had been discussed in his absence. 

‘They said they’ll make a phone call to the board right this afternoon to formally open the process of reassessment.’

‘No way! That’s great news! You’ll get to leave!’ Roger all but shouted across the hallway, and before Brian could prepare for it, he was tackled in a hug so sudden and so tight that he almost dropped the stack of papers he had been clutching against his chest. To be fair, he was still clutching them against his chest; now that Roger had enveloped him in a nearly reckless embrace, there was no other place for him to put his arms other than squeezing them tight against his body. It was uncomfortable for a bit, mainly because Brian wasn’t so outgoing himself, and wasn’t used to Roger behaving this way either. However, as Roger continued to hold him tight and seemed to try and rock him encouragingly by skipping from one leg to the other, all while unintelligible but nonetheless encouraging sounds escaped him, Brian could not help but smile. It was good to see Roger, who he had seen so down and helpless during multiple relapses into whatever drugs he could find himself, be in such a positive mindset again. Of course, nothing was set in stone yet, and Brian realised all too well that chances were that incriminating information against him could be found during his trial, that the psychiatrist who would be called in to examine him could vote against him leaving, and that the jury might deem him unable of returning to society as of yet. But if the official start of his procedure to try and be acquitted from Queen Mary’s brought his friend so much hope and joy, then who was Brian to bring him down?

‘Oh my God, and you’ll be able to leave Queen Mary’s and live happily ever after with John far away from this clown academy!‘ Roger continued to mumble against Brian’s shoulder, and Brian snorted. 

‘That’s a name for Queen Mary’s I haven’t heard before.’

‘Am I wrong though?’ Roger asked, looking up at him in all seriousness. His blue eyes shone brighter than they had done in ages, and Brian couldn’t help but wish that Roger could always be like this, bright and bubbly and alert and happy. 

‘You’re not. But if you don’t stop crushing me now, this clown will have to be admitted into the infirmary with a pair of broken ribs.’

Roger let go of him with a sigh. ‘Don’t think I will leave clown academy alive if John finds out I broke your ribcage.’

Brian felt his heart skip a beat at the mentioning of the name of his partner. John, who had gone through a dreadful night filled with tearful wake-ups and nightmares, and who unfortunately had been least comforted by the idea that Brian was filing for a reassessment among the four of them. Brian had hoped that making that promise to John would alleviate his worries, but it hadn’t quite been the miracle cure he had hoped for. Looking back at it, he should have known better than to think that John’s grey skies would turn to blue at the mere mentioning of the option of reassessment. Despite the fact that John’s depression turned every good news bleak, it was also not at all guaranteed yet that he’d actually be allowed to leave. After this morning’s meeting they had clarity at least to the extent that Brian could be filed for a reassessment, but this of course did not mean his case would be approved of, or how long it would take for his psychiatrists to come to a conclusion. It might take months for all he knew - months of time he simply did not have. 

‘How is he?’ Brian asked carefully. 

‘Very quiet ever since you left for that meeting. We couldn’t persuade him to go out with us to play, so we stayed with him in our dorm.’

‘Thanks,’ Brian said. ‘That you didn’t- didn’t go off without him.’

‘Of course not. We know he’s not very stable at the moment, and he might do things that he’d…’ Roger’s voice trailed off as he searched for the right words to express what they both knew was possible but which neither of them was particularly eager to speak out loud. ‘Either way, he’ll be glad to hear you’ve been approved for reassessment.’

‘Yes, we should go tell him,’ Brian said, trying to oppress the hint of excitement he felt; after all, he had no idea how or even if John was going to react to this spark of good news. ‘Where is he?’

‘In the canteen with Freddie. Can you imagine how confused I was to see Freddie having to drag John to the canteen instead of the other way around?’ Brian, who could not picture the scene at all, shook his head. ‘Come on, I’ll take you there. Lunch started about ten minutes ago but I’m sure they saved us a plate. I’m bloody starving.’

Brian again nodded in agreement - that was, to the part where Roger said they would head back to the canteen. He was not exactly hungry, and would not mind at all if John, in his current state of depression, and Freddie, with his current solitary task of keeping an eye on John, hadn’t thrown some mediocre sandwiches and milk cartons together for their missing friends. Roger might mind a little more, though; he had gone without heroin for quite some days now, and as a result of this was starting to get food cravings. The evening before he had eaten more than all of his roommates together, and breakfast this morning had followed the same pattern. Freddie had looked at him with a glance of horror and Brian could swear he could see Freddie counting up the number of calories and the grams of fat in his head as Roger was making his way through his third serving of milk and honey loops. Personally Brian didn’t think of it as a problem at all. Roger was skin and bone after years of heroin dependency, so if this sudden food /sprawl/ would result in a few extra pounds, it would probably be for the better.

Brian followed Roger through the hallway, half-heartedly listening to his talk of the constant headaches and cold shivers that he experienced now that it had been numerous days without heroin or any other addictive. He nodded and said ‘yes’ and ‘amen’ when appropriate, but it wasn’t until Roger shouted at him to watch his step that he was taken out of the depth of his own mind.

‘Is it Tuesday today? I hope it’s Tuesday, it’s when they sometimes have croissants at lunch. If so, I hope Freddie saved me some, because I’m seriously craving some croissants with jam right now- watch your step!’

A strong hand around his wrist tugged him to the side, and Brian almost lost his balance. His first instinct was to scold Roger for catching him off guard all of a sudden, but when he looked down at the floor below him, his flurry of anger disappeared at once. Half leaning against the wall, half sprawled across the floor was a young man, whose closed eyes and pale face at once struck Brian as a corpse. 

‘Oh my God, Oh my God, Roger-’ Brian clamped a hand over his mouth and staggered a few steps back, staring in pure disbelief at his friend, who somehow remained completely calm and unbothered as he crouched down next to the body.

‘It’s okay. It’s nothing,’ Roger told him. ‘Or well, nothing- just some drugs. He’s still breathing and I can feel a pulse,’ Roger said, his hand around the man’s wrist. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’  

‘You know this guy?’ Brian asked, still keeping at least a six feet distance between him and the guy who seemed more dead than alive.  

‘Of course. We’re in counseling together every morning. Group therapy or whatever it’s called,’ Roger said nonchalantly. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’ he repeated - and then, when the guy again did not reply, a sharp slap to his left cheek made Brian shriek and Alexej groan and open one tired eye.

‘Roger!’ Brian whimpered.

‘Don’t worry. I’m in this scene, I know what I’m doing,’ Roger replied without looking up, and Brian was unsure if this answer should console him or stress him out even more. ‘Alex, say something.’

‘Hnn… I feel fuckin’… awful, man,’ the guy said under his breath, but Brian was still able to hear, besides the Slavic accent, the slur in his voice. He had no idea how Roger stayed calm in the midst of this, but then again - Freddie had also always remained calm and collected whenever Roger messed up his clean streak again and was found lying on the dorm room floor with a syringe lodging in his elbow. It was something some people could apparently get used to, but Brian had known right from the start that he was not among these ‘happy few’, or whatever one wanted to call them. 

‘Bet you do. Now, listen. Did you do this yourself?’ Roger asked him. Alexej nodded slowly, and Roger did so too. ‘How much?’

‘Wha?’ Alexej opened one eye again.

‘How many grams?’

His eye fell shut again. ‘Don’t… recall.’

‘Right. Well, sit still, I’m taking this syringe out of you.’ With trained expertise, Roger pulled the needle out of the man’s elbow. It was only when the object had been removed that Brian could see how bruised the skin in and around the addict’s elbow was. The image of it made him queasy, even though he had beheld similar sights on Roger’s arms time and time again. 

Alexej grunted when the tip of the needle was removed from his skin, and a drop of blood trickled down from the small puncture. Roger wiped it away and held the syringe up in the air to inspect the item at close quarters. Brian could not have determined anything from the injection, but Roger, an expert of the field, shook his head condemningly.

‘The filler area is still half full, and there are particles in it. Where’d you get this trash?’

‘Geoff sold it to me.’

‘Of course he did,’ Roger rolled his eyes. ‘Listen, don’t buy his shit again. If this is baking soda or whatever it can cause serious problems,’ he lectured, as if doing heroin wasn’t dangerous enough on its own. Brian would have snorted if the entire situation wouldn’t have been so pathetic. ‘It can clog your blood vessels or even arteries, and you can die from that. I know life in here is shit but it’s not worth dying for. You’re with me?’

‘Got it,’ Alexej grumbled.

Roger nodded, then held the injection up in the air again. ‘This syringe must be rather new. The needle is still very sharp - you don’t see that often in here,’ he said, lightly jabbing the tip of it against his forefinger, which made Brian more than a little nervous. ‘You don’t mind if I keep this as a reward for helping you, Alex, do you?’ he asked, and brought the injection up to the back pocket of his jeans.

‘Roger!’ Brian hissed, and his friend looked up with an innocent expression that definitely was completely unfit for the current situation.

‘What?’ Roger asked.

‘Put that back!’ Brian told him, and Roger, bringing up the syringe again, stared at the object, then at the source of it, and then back at Brian.

‘You mean like this?’ he asked, and Brian couldn’t prevent a gasp of horror when he saw the tip of the needle disappear into the bruised inner area of Alexej’s elbow - quite literally the place it came from indeed.

‘Roger! Stop that!’ he whimpered.

‘Just joking,’ grinned Roger, who then showed that he’d slid the needle right past Alexej’s arm, but which from Brian’s viewing angle made it look as if he’d jammed the injection right back into his arm.

‘Not funny,’ Brian all but pouted, unsure if his heart rate would recover from this stunt of Roger’s anywhere soon. 

‘It was hilarious and you know it,’ Roger said before turning to the person still on the floor. ‘Now, let’s get you on your legs and to the infirmary,’ Roger concluded and placed his hands under Alexej’s armpits, but his patient moved away from him with the little strength he could still muster.

‘No,’ he protested. ‘No infirmary. Been there. Isolation…’ From these half-sentences Roger and Brian were able to conclude that Alexej didn’t want to be sent to the infirmary out of fear that they’d put him in isolation to sober him up, but Roger clearly thought this objection was irrelevant.

‘I’m not gonna have you die on me, Alex,’ he said, gesturing for Brian to come over and help him haul the man off the floor. Brian cautiously stepped closer and positioned himself at the other side of his body, and hesitantly followed Roger’s example of placing his arm under Alexej’s armpit.

‘Won’t… just… no nurses,’ their companion said, struggling to try and keep himself on the floor when Brian’s and Roger’s joint power tried putting him back on his feet. Roger and Alexej argued back and forth, until Roger eventually told his groupmate that he could go if he’d be able to climb the stairs up to the dorm rooms himself. Having made this deal, Alexej allowed Brian and Roger to pick him up beneath the armpits and escort him through the hallway and towards the stairs, on the way of which they fortunately did not come across any staff members who might notice that something was off.

It took some time, persistence, and Roger’s threat of calling in the nurse after all to get Alexej upstairs and in bed. Brian judged that he looked somewhat better than he had done before, and after having gotten him a glass of water and Roger promising him he’d drop by later that afternoon to check up on him, the two men left the room behind to finally go to lunch and meet their friends. Roger was a little disgruntled at having missed the largest share of lunchtime, as he was still ‘hungry enough to eat an entire horse,’ and Brian was anxious to see John and bring him the news. They skipped downstairs, paced towards the canteen, and Brian had Roger somewhat begrudgingly throw the syringe he’d gotten from the encounter with Alexej in the bin before they entered the canteen. They found their friends at the usual spot at the back of the canteen, and Brian all but ran towards them. Somehow Roger was still faster than he was - presumably because he saw a plate loaded with croissants in the middle of the table, the promise of which seemed to make him forget about the syringe he’d just had to throw away on Brian’s watch. 

Once they reached the table, Roger was the first to slump down on the chair next to Freddie, and Brian sat down across from him on the vacant chair next to John. John did not look up at either of them, which made Brian’s heart sink a bit - but the smallest of a smile appeared on his partner’s face when he put his hand over those John had placed in his lap.

Roger was the one to do the talking once he’d settled down and grabbed a croissant from the plate. ‘Sorry we’re late. Had to patch up someone of my drugs group again.’

‘Henry again?’ Freddie asked.

‘No, Alexej. The Latvian guy,’ Roger mumbled between two bites of croissant.

‘Don’t think I know a Latvian guy around here,’ Freddie frowned. ‘But what do I care! How did the meeting go, Brian? Please tell me you’ve got some good news.’

Brian smiled at him, which was really all he had to do; the mere curling of his lips made Freddie squeal in delight.

‘You were approved for reassessment! Oh my God!’ Freddie flashed the biggest smile he’d ever seen him do, and even John looked up with a sparkle of hope in his eyes. ‘You’ll get to leave with Deaky!’

‘I’ve merely been approved, Freddie,’ said Brian, who - despite loving Freddie’s enthusiasm - knew he had to remain realistic. However, now that he had seen John smile at the good news, he allowed himself to share some positivity between the four of them. ‘But they’ve gone to my records and found nothing against me. No drugs smuggling or violence or being disrespectful towards the staff or anything, so the process can go ahead.’

‘Darling, that’s amazing news,’ Freddie said. ‘So what happens now? When will you have meetings with your psychiatrist and such?’

‘I’ll be assigned a new psychiatrist to evaluate me. Someone neutral, they said. I’ll get to meet him tomorrow morning,’ Brian said.

‘What’s his name?’ Freddie asked.

‘You probably don’t know him - he’s coming from an external mental hospital. They have to make sure he doesn’t know a thing about me yet and can’t be prejudiced in any way. Even Sarah and Jasper and doctor Imholz don’t know him,’ Brian said. ‘But his name is Fisher. I hope he’s alright.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be alright. And even if he’s dumb, all you’ll have to do is keep up with him for what, two sessions or so?’ Roger said, grasping the second croissant of the plate.

‘Five sessions,’ Brian corrected him. ‘I’ll see him once every day starting tomorrow until the end of the week. Then he’ll make a judgement about whether I’m ready to leave or not, and if he approves, he’ll vouch in favour of my request at the final hearing.’

‘Final hearing?’

‘Yes, in like three, three and a half weeks my case will go to a kind of court that will decide what to do. You know, two people from the board that rule this and other mental hospitals across the country will hear my case, and make a final decision. Those and - and my former psychiatrist.’ Brian could hear his own voice fall when he mentioned this past member of the jury. He had repressed every memory of professor Sumner for the past few days, even though he knew that once he’d go for a reassessment he would be standing eye to eye with him sooner or later. The thought of it was enough to make him shiver, which John seemed to realise, too. Somewhere along the line of the conversation, Brian had retreated the hand he’d placed on top of John’s hand to be able to awkwardly pluck at his own nails, but now he felt John putting his hand on his upper leg and gently stroking him as a form of wordless comfort. They shared a sideways glance with each other and smiled, which was enough to make Brian realise that his partner’s happiness was worth having to deal with Sumner again a thousand times over. 

Roger, still, was unimpressed with the entire procedure. ‘I think just skipping over the barbed wire would be easier than going through all of this crap. But I’ve gotta admit that I’m pleasantly surprised. I never would have thought Queen Mary’s would be able to pull off an actual protocol like this.’

‘Well, we don’t know that yet,’ Brian said. ‘They called someone in to evaluate me, is all they’ve done so far. And handing me two threes worth of paperwork to fill out.’ He nodded at the pile of papers he had dragged along from the meeting, and Freddie was the first one to pick up the documents lying on top to have a look.

‘Code of conduct. Mental health statement. Mental health history. Family background. Plan for return to society,’ Freddie read out loud. ‘It’s as if you’re to become the British ambassador to Saudi Arabia or something.’

‘I’ve definitely got my work cut out for me,’ Brian said, massaging his temples with his fingertips. Nolan had quickly gone over many of the papers he’d have to fill out in the following weeks, but the amount of them had been so staggering that Brian had felt himself drift off after half a minute. He knew he’d have to bring himself around to fill everything out as well as possible, but the idea of it seemed so daunting. It was so weird, so final, to know that this could be his way out of Queen Mary’s. That within a month he could be free again, free to go and do as he pleased, instead of being locked behind the barred windows and the barbed fences of a mental health institution. It was as if he had been at Queen Mary’s for years, yet at the same time he felt like it had been just yesterday when he had handed over his suitcase and said goodbye to his parents. He wanted nothing more than to leave, especially for the sake of John, but he was nervous. What if he wasn’t ready for it yet? His depression was nowhere near cured, and since no one so far really seemed to know what caused and what could alleviate borderline, he doubted he was very much cured in that area. What if he was to leave Queen Mary’s only to have a breakdown, and be shipped right back in? What would become of John if Brian proved to be unable to deal with the mental mess he still found himself dealing with?

‘When is all of this due?’ asked Freddie as he piled up the lot of papers again.

‘The first papers for tomorrow. Not all of it, but… quite some, I think,’ Brian said. A mere look at the stack of paper was enough to make him feel nervous. 

Roger whistled shortly. ‘I was gonna invite you to go outside and play some music, but I’m afraid you won’t have time for that then?’ 

‘I’m afraid not, no,’ Brian answered. ‘This is, eh, kind of more important at the moment. I need to get this done as much as I can.’

‘I’ll come with you. I’ll help you fill them out,’ John said resolutely, and Brian felt his heart swell.

‘Thank you. I’d love that,’ he whispered at his partner, who smiled at him a little shyly. 

‘Marvellous. Do you want us to help you, too, or should we make way for you to get down to paperwork?’ Freddie asked. Normally Brian would have been too nervous to tell them off, but now that so much was at stake and four people working on the same task would probably just distract him, Brian politely told them John and he would manage on their own - something that, much to his relief, went down well with Freddie.

‘Great. But first the two of you got to eat. Both of you haven’t had any lunch yet, and the canteen is closing in like five minutes. Can you believe that I’ve actually gone through an entire croissant while you weren’t here?’

‘An entire croissant?’ asked an obviously surprised Roger, who never would have expected his boyfriend to eat something like that if not directly faced with the threat of being dragged into the infirmary if he would not budge and eat the calorie bomb.

‘Don’t get too excited, dear. I was merely trying to persuade John to eat,’ Freddie said, which, Brian decided, sounded a lot more like something he would do.

‘You haven’t had anything yet, then?’ Brian asked John, who shrugged.

‘No. Not really hungry.’

‘Even not now that Brian’s come back with such good news?’ Roger asked, but the answer remained no. ‘Come on, Deaks, you have to eat something. Or do you need me to use my techniques for Freddie on you for a change?’ 

John now grimaced, and picked up a croissant from the plate, from which he slowly started plucking strips of bread. Roger, Freddie, and Brian enthusiastically spoke of the progress Brian’s case might be making and what to say to doctor Fisher when he would be standing eye in eye with him - whether to be all upbeat or to be sincere about his emotional condition. Brian, in the meantime, could not really get a hold on what John was feeling. On the one hand he did nod and smile every now and then, and answered without a problem when he was asked a question by one of his friends. Still, his heart did not seem in it, and when the lunch lady came over to tell them lunchtime was over, he had only munched down about half of the croissant, and seemed relieved he was now able to toss the remains of it back on the plate. It was Brian who tried to see if there would be some leeway that would allow them to take some food up to their room.

‘Could we maybe just finish these last croissants upstairs?’ he asked the middle-aged woman, who scanned him and his friends over for a few seconds. ‘It’s just that we had a special meeting with our psychiatrist and only got here five minutes ago,’ Brian tried, which seemed to make the lady think.

‘You know that officially I can’t allow that. It’s against policy,’ she said.

‘Please? John here has barely had anything yet,’ Brian added.

‘It’s okay,’ John said. ‘I’m not hungry. I’ll just have a cup of tea and we’ll go back to our room,’ he said, giving a nod into the direction of the vendor at the other side of the canteen.

‘I’m afraid that won’t do,’ the woman said. 

‘Are you in that much of a hurry to close off the canteen?’ Brian asked. He knew staff had been given orders from above to close off the canteen right after mealtimes, but did that really leave no room for someone to grab a drink before leaving? 

‘Darlings, have you been living underneath a stone?’ Freddie asked. ‘The coffee and tea vendor has been dismantled.’

‘The coffee vendor- why?’ Brian asked with genuine surprise.

‘Because last week Drew threw a cup of burning coffee in Clyde’s face, and he had to be taken to the local hospital for who knows what sort of degree facial burns,’ Roger said with an equal amount of amusement as irritation in his voice. 

‘I don’t even know why this sort of thing surprises me any longer,’ said Brian, lowering his face into his hands. If anything, it should surprise him that none of the masterminds they were surrounded by had come up with the idea of pulling off this prank earlier.

‘This is why we can’t have nice things, I suppose,’ John sighed, the legs of his chair scratching over the floor as he stood up.

‘You know, just take your croissant. You don’t strike me as the trouble-making kind,’ the woman said, which made Freddie grin mischievously, telling Brian that something undoubtedly inappropriate was about to leave his lips.

‘Obviously you haven’t met cold turkey Roger before his seven o’clock shower blowjob yet,’ Freddie said with one arm sneaking around Roger’s waist, but it was quickly batted away by his less than amused boyfriend. 

‘Thank you. We’ll be on our way,’ Brian said to the woman who now looked at them as if she saw water burning. He caught Roger’s lower arm to drag him along and make sure he would not stay behind to say anything in reply to Freddie’s comment that could make the situation even worse than it was already. John understood the hint and followed right behind with the stack of papers Brian had left on the table, and Freddie, probably out of fear of being left to explain himself to a now traumatised lunch lady, wasted no time in following suit. 

Brian all but ushered the couple out of the canteen, and only let go of Roger when his friend was done threatening Freddie that he would take revenge on him one way or another. By the time this happened, they had reached their bedroom already; John opened the door and practically burst into their safe haven. Putting the paperwork on Brian’s nightstand, he flopped down on his own bed, covering his face in his hands. 

Brian was not too sure what to make of this behaviour. John had always seemed relieved to be back in their room after a long morning of group therapy and two shared mealtimes, but his relief to be able to crawl back into seclusion again for the upcoming hours seemed to consist of something more this time. John was still stressed out and feeling down regarding the judgement which had been made concerning his more or less forced removal from Queen Mary’s in a month, and the steps Brian had undertaken to try and be admitted in time with him had so far done little to ease his nerves. He wished he could do something for John to help him ease out of the whirlwind of worries and depressive thoughts, but for the time being, there was little he could do. Promising John he would be right there with him on the day he would be acquitted would be too risky; after all, even though things looked good for him so far, he could not guarantee that his case would be approved of by the jury of mental health experts he would have to appeal to at the end of this trial. Even if it was, he did not know when he would be set free from Queen Mary’s. The judgement date had been set at approximately three and a half weeks from now, meaning that he’d get to hear the decision a few days before John’s expulsion date. He doubted however if Queen Mary’s would let go of him right away, or if - just like in the case of John - they’d allow another month between the judgement and the date of dismission, to allow for a month of transition time. John was currently in the dismission period, which meant he had sessions with social workers who tried to help him establish a routine for when he’s got to leave and return to his old life.

Not that there was much left of his old life, in all honesty. Both his mother and the aunt and uncle he had lived with had thrown him out, and he had no other addresses to return to. The address Brian and he had discussed was that they’d go and live with Brian’s parents for the first few months, before finding an apartment on their own somewhere in the city - which was a plan Brian’s parents had approved of once they had overcome the shock of hearing that Brian was going for a reassessment to leave Queen Mary’s less than six months after he had been sent to it. The counsellors John had spoken too, however, were less convinced of this plan - mainly because it was of yet unsure if Brian would be released at all, or when exactly this would be. They were busy trying to set John up with guided community housing for people just released from hospital, prison, or mental institutions like the one he came from, taking no note of the fact that it would make John miserable to live in a community setting with around the clock guidance and interference. Brian knew that these social workers meant well, but he thought it really rather objectionable that they refused to listen to John’s opinion on being sent to a housing group, and kept pushing forward their vision regardless of the wishes of the one they worked for. The inability of the counsellors and John to see eye to eye on the question of where he was to go after Queen Mary’s would deliver him back into society made John cooperative to the counselling sessions, and brought stress and tension to his days and nights. Brian wished he could drag the counsellors over the desk by their ties and tell them what he thought of their method of ‘helping’ his partner, but since the sessions were closed to John and his mentor only, there was little he could do. All that was within his power was trying to convince his partner that they’d work their way around it, that his parents were willing to let him in even if Brian would not have been set free yet, and pray that his case would be approved of as soon as possible.

‘I’ll just grab my lyrics book and then Roger and I will be on our way,’ Freddie said as he dug through the stack of notebooks in the drawer of his nightstand. ‘Is there anything we can do for you before you leave?’

Apart from a handful of witty comments in the style of ‘burn down Queen Mary’s’ and ‘bribing the judges to make sure they approve of Brian’s case’ John and Brian had little serious matters to ask for, so Freddie and Roger left them with the promise that they’d be gone for a few hours so that the other couple could have lots of time to get down to the paperwork. They left with a handful of pens and a few notebooks, and before they knew it, Brian and John had the entire room to themselves.

‘Well then,’ said John, who by now had removed his hands from his face and reached out for the bunch of papers. ‘Shall we get going, then?’

Brian, in all honesty, was a tad disappointed by John’s offer to get right down to business. He would have preferred to first take a moment to talk about how John was doing today, with the eye on his partner’s reassessment case and the idea of having to leave sooner or later, but he could tell that John had brought up the idea of doing straight to the paperwork that needed to be tackled just so they would not have to talk about how he felt. Brian was not entirely sure if this was the right way to deal with one’s emotions, but after recent events, he knew better than to push John into talking when his boyfriend clearly did not want to. 

‘Alright,’ Brian said, taking a seat on his own bed. ‘What’ve you got there?’

John skimmed through the papers. ‘Family background and Code of Conduct. What do you wanna start with?’

‘I’ll have Code of Conduct. If I’m not mistaken that’s just the way I’m supposed to behave after I leave Queen Mary’s,’ Brian said, holding out his hand for John to give him the papers. Their beds had moved close enough to be at an arm’s length from each other, and Brian suspected it would not take long before they’d permanently shove their beds together just like Freddie and Roger did. 

‘I’ll have a look at the family background. See if there’s anything weird in there,’ John said, to which Brian nodded. For a moment or so they both quietly read through their assigned papers, the only sound being that of flicking papers and that of John’s humming. Though it distracted Brian from reading a little, he had never heard his partner hum before, and decided to let it be - it was cute, after all, and a sign that John felt comfortable. 

‘It says here I’m not supposed to spread overly negative opinions about Queen Mary’s,’ Brian eventually said. ‘And that I’m not allowed to reach out to the press to share negative experiences anonymously.’

‘So does that mean you can share negative experiences un-anonymously?’ John asked.

‘I guess so. Maybe because they can trace me down and beat me up then,’ Brian said.

‘They would if they’d have staff they could miss,’ John grinned.

Brian flicked the page, and read in comfortable silence until a question popped up in his mind. ‘Have you had similar papers to sign? You know, since you’ll be leaving soon?’

‘Yeah, these things sound kind of familiar,’ John said. ‘I just never paid much attention to them.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘Not after I asked if they would keep me if I refused to sign, and they said I’d be let go of regardless,’ John said, and Brian felt a pang of hurt when he was reminded once again that John did not really want to leave this place that was the only home he’d known for these past two years. ‘These papers are just a formality.’

‘Oh. Should I just sign then regardless?’

‘I don’t think you’ll be approved of if you refuse to sign their dumb codes of conduct, I’m afraid,’ John judged. ‘Besides, spilling the beans on Queen Mary’s doesn’t seem like something you’d do anyway.’

‘Probably not, no. Let me just get a pen,’ Brian said, leaning over to open the drawer of his nightstand, then his pencil case, and fish out one of the only two pens he possessed at the moment. Given that Queen Mary’s had a strict no-sharp-objects-policy, getting to keep two pens was a luxury that Brian had come to cherish and a right he wished to protect. With the ballpoint pen in his hand he skimmed through the last paragraphs - something about keeping confidential information confidential and not slandering the names of any of the staff or his fellow patients - he went to put a somewhat shaky signature on the dotted line at the end of the handout. Just as he was halfway through adding the date and location of signing to the document, John caught him by surprise with a business-like question.

‘What is the gross yearly income of your father?’

Brian blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Not for my interest. It’s one of the questions they ask you to answer in this family background. Along with your parents’ work experiences since the age of eighteen, and their involvement with law enforcement for the past twenty-five years, including petty crimes like parking fines and speeding tickets and such.’

Brian took a few seconds to reflect before replying. ‘It really is as if I’m becoming the ambassador of Saudi Arabia,’ he eventually mumbled. ‘Seriously though, how am I supposed to know whether my father was ever fined for driving through a red light before I was even born?’

‘Guess we’ll have to cross-examine him when we see him this weekend,’ John shrugged, straightening out the paper. ‘Both of your parents are coming, right?’

‘Yeah, they should be,’ Brian said. ‘At least that’s what mum said on the phone.’ He could sense John looking at him, but he did not have the courage to look him in the eyes at the moment, so he focussed his attention on the pen he now rolled between his thumb and forefinger. 

‘Are you nervous about seeing them again? Now that- well, since you broke the news to them yesterday?’

Brian hadn’t expected John to ask this question. He wasn’t usually the one to talk about emotions, let alone to bring up the topic if he was not coaxed into doing so. However, even though Brian wasn’t sure if he was quite in the mood to talk about it, he supposed he owed John something of an explanation at this point. He had told John that he had broken the news of trying to leave to his parents, and that they agreed to his request of letting them move in until they’d get an apartment for themselves, but other than that, he had been rather quiet about the whole matter. Part of it was because John hadn’t been very talkative about his reassessment either, but his parents’ emotional reaction had also been weighing in. This was something he had not told John, but he had a feeling that his boyfriend had been able to sense it - and now that he directly addressed the matter, it seemed best to Brian to break it to him.

‘A bit, I guess. My dad wasn’t happy, and my mom - well, eh, she cried. Said I was wasting my chance of healing by getting away from Queen Mary’s before they could complete their job,’ Brian mumbled, and he could feel John’s empathetic eyes on him. ‘But she said that if it was really what I wanted, then she would support me,’ he shrugged it off, even though he still had not completely overcome his mother’s reaction. It was weird in a way, because he had heard her cry a lot over the past six months - the days prior of his admission, the day of his admission, upon saying goodbye, the first few times they had telephoned, the first visit his parents had paid to him at Queen Mary’s - but this seemed different for some reason. Different, perhaps because now she cried not because she missed him, but because she felt so powerless now that he was leaving Queen Mary’s before his treatment was over - she might even be afraid of what was to become of him now that he might soon be out and about in society again. Because she was disappointed in him, or at least with his decision - which was incredibly hard to stomach for Brian. 

‘I’m sure she will support you,’ said John, who reached out a hand to put on Brian’s shoulder. ‘And your father will also come around sooner or later. He always does, you told me once, right? This will be no different.’

‘Probably, yeah,’ Brian said somewhat vaguely. ‘I mean, he’s got little choice - my mum already said yes to our plans, and regardless of what my dad might think, it’s my mum who wears the pants around the house,’ Brian chuckled, but his amusement faded when something else came to mind. ‘She was also the one to send me here, now that I think about it.’

‘She did that because she cares about you, sweetie,’ John said in the softest, most tender voice - one Brian would only get to hear when John tried to comfort him. ‘She couldn’t know it would be such a shitshow in here. She did what she thought would be best for you.’

‘It was, in a way,’ Brian sighed. ‘I never would have met you and those other clowns if I hadn’t been sent here.’

John pulled a face. ‘Out of all possible nicknames you could have called me, clown would be the one I personally never would have used. I’ve never said anything funny in my life.’

Brian begged to differ. ‘You called this place a shitshow like three seconds ago. And Roger called Queen Mary’s a clown academy just this morning.’

‘Sounds like him,’ John snorted before he pulled his hand away from Brian’s shoulder and tucked it under his head, taking in the sight of the ceiling for a moment before he said: ‘I’ll miss him when I’ll have to leave. You know, despite all the drama with his addiction and his vulgar comments and his annoying- annoying everything, I’ll still miss him. And Freddie, of course. I’ll miss him and his stupid enthusiasm about everything.’

Brian smiled at John’s way of appreciating their roommates, who overtime had become so much more than that. ‘I know. I’ll miss them too if I do get to leave. We’ve become such a team overtime.’

‘I never would have thought so before you got here,’ John admitted. ‘When I’d been assigned to a room with Freddie and Roger about a year ago, I thought I’d lose my mind. They were so… loud and intense and dramatic. I didn’t talk to my psychiatrist for a week when he refused to have me switch to another room. But I got used to them, and then you came around… And it just fit. You brought balance between all of us. You’re like… I don’t know. Some kind of glue that stuck us together.’

‘You’re so sweet,’ Brian smiled. ‘I’m sure Freddie and Roger will miss you just as much. I already overheard their plans of jumping on you for the longest hug you’ve ever had in your life on the day you leave here.’

John, contrary to what Brian had expected, did not pull a face but smiled back at him. ‘And you’re just letting them have that record?’

‘You know you can tell me if you need a cuddle,’ said Brian as he dragged himself up from his own bed in order to join John on his.

‘I can’t. Too antisocial to ask for physical intimacy,’ John said, although he did stretch out his arms to invite Brian into his bed and, more importantly, into his embrace. 

‘Physical intimacy, you say?’ Brian wiggled his eyebrows at John.  

‘This sort of thing is the reason why I’m antisocial in the first place,’ John sighed, but he leaned into the touch of his boyfriend anyway.

‘But you’ve made great progress,’ Brian remarked, tucking a loose strand of John’s hair behind his ear. ‘You talk during group therapy sessions, you go out and have fun with us and even with other people sometimes, like that time in the gym. You’re even allowed to leave because you’re doing so much better socially.’

‘Forced to, more like,’ John muttered. ‘I don’t want to leave.’

Brian, who felt like this might be a gateway to talking about John’s emotions concerning leaving Queen Mary’s in more depth, asked: ‘Even not if I go with you?’ 

‘That’s better, of course, a lot better. But I’m still - afraid. You know, what if I’m just a burden to your parents? What if they send me away just like… like everyone else?’

This was something Brian heard for the first time, and something that caught him by surprise, even though perhaps it shouldn’t have. John had seemed relieved when Brian had told him that they could live with his parents when they would first be dismissed from Queen Mary’s, but every place he’d ever lived had eventually kicked him out - his family home, his aunt and uncle’s place, and now Queen Mary’s. His fear of being expulsed again was reasonable, but Brian wished to tackle it. ‘What? They’d never send you away, honey. Trust me, they’re not that kind of people.’

‘But what if they don’t like me?’ John asked.

‘Why would they dislike you? You’re sweet and quiet and respectful. My parents will adore-’

‘Because I’m the reason you’re leaving prematurely,’ John burst in. ‘I’m the one who- you know, took away your chance at healing if all of this goes through.’

Oh, Lord. That was an aspect Brian hadn’t considered yet, but when John mentioned it, it hit him like a brick. Of course John worried about the effect he’d have on Brian now that his partner was trying to leave Queen Mary’s for his sake, and of course he worried about what Brian’s parents would think of him if this was to be one of his first impression on them. It explained John’s recent quietness and reticence, and Brian could hit himself in the face for not having seen it earlier.

‘Oh darling, is that why you’ve been so quiet about my reassessment?’

‘Maybe,’ John shrugged. ‘I just feel guilty.’

Brian, cuddling closer up to John said: ‘Never feel guilty. I never could have healed at this place of - of what exactly? Of staff members getting bitten in their arms when they try to break up a fight? Of dismantled coffee machines because the risk of people throwing hot coffee in each other’s faces is too high? Of secret isolation cells in the basement for if staff can’t handle the patients anymore and is not allowed to call the police out of management’s fear for inspection?’ Brian summed up. ‘I never could have healed here, John, and neither can you. This place is in the best interest of neither of us.’

‘I know,’ John gritted. ‘But that’s the thing - I want what’s best for you. And I’m not always sure that that’s me. Especially now that you’re about to be set free from Queen Mary’s, I’ve been wondering if I- if I should also set you free,’ John said with a sniff that Brian had a feeling preluded tears. It broke his heart seeing his partner like this, hearing how he felt about the influence he had on Brian, and his brain was working overtime trying to figure out something to say to show him that he had it all wrong - that being with him had made Brian feel infinitely better, and that he was the best thing that had ever happened to him, especially while here at Queen Mary’s. 

‘John- John, listen, honey. You are what’s best for me. I could never have imagined having come this far again, to the extent where I’m able to see that life is out there, and that I want to go back to it again. That’s all thanks to you,’ Brian said, cupping John’s face in his hands when his partner tried to shy away from his eyes. ‘Not because of Sarah’s endless chatter or Jasper’s enthusiastic but bloody annoying ‘thought schemes’ or whatever he calls them, but because of you. If it wasn’t for you, I would have stayed here, biding my time, waiting until they would either admit me back to my parent’s place again, or would ship me off to a long stay clinic. It’s thanks to you that I want to leave this place, go back to school, be back in touch with my friends and family, make a life again, together with you. Because you’re the one who showed me love again,’ Brian whispered, and he could swear he could see the tears in John’s eyes by now - and if those had just been an illusion, they were definitely there when he added: ‘I never thought I’d experience love again until I found you.’

‘Fuck, Brian,’ John choked out, using the back of his sleeve to wipe away his tears. ‘You can’t just… make speeches like that on a regular afternoon and expect me to be okay.’

‘It’s okay to cry. It shows that you care.’

‘I know. I just still have to get used to like… emotions and stuff,’ John said. ‘Fuck, this is unbelievable. They really think they can put me back and have me be a functional member of society? This place honestly doesn’t know what they’re doing,’ he said, desperately trying to wipe out another line of tears, but the smile that shone through underneath told Brian that he was happy despite it all. 

‘Maybe they don’t, but we do,’ Brian said. ‘We’ll go out there, sort ourselves out, get a nice studio apartment, buy some cheap pots and pans and floral furniture you wouldn’t want to be found dead on at a second-hand store, go back to school or work or whatever we want to do. We’ll visit Freddie and Roger until they’ll be let go of. We’ll play music until the neighbours knock on the walls, and drink lukewarm tea from a dysfunctional hand-me-down kettle that already seemed too good to be true.’ John’s smile grew a little wider, and Brian added: ‘And we’ll have one of those weird spider plants that grow all over the place if you don’t watch it. We’ll adopt a scrawny old cat that sleeps in our bed and hangs in the curtains at least twice a week. Your turn.’ 

John blinked for a bit. ‘Oh, eh… Well, I’ll ruin at least three shirts because I can’t iron for the life of me. We’ll have instruments and strings and guitar picks all over the place.’

‘We’ll have to accept ugly knitted pillow cases and crocheted tablecloths from our mums, which we’ll only bring out when they come around to visit,’ Brian followed up.

‘We’ll have an old radio or TV which keeps buzzing regardless of how well you tune it, and we’ll hit the screen with a rolled-up newspaper if we’re frustrated, as if that will make things better.’

‘We’ll have joined showers because there’ll be too little hot water for the both of us to shower separately. And I only want biscuit tins that actually contain biscuits in the house. No needlework or lightbulbs or clothing pins or the like.’

John, who by now seemed to get the hang of the game, said: ‘We’ll spend all of our excess money on records, and hang sleeves up on the wall as decoration.’

‘We’ll dump out that dumb kettle and buy a decent one, and we’ll try out weird tea flavours all day. Pineapple tea, cotton candy, or tomato-broccoli flavour or so.’

John pulled a face. ‘And I’d dump it right into the plant pots when you’re not looking. That might make those weird spider plants stop growing.’

Brian snorted. ‘And then I’d buy a cactus, and we’ll be known as the first couple ever to manage to kill a cactus. I also want a bed with at least twenty pillows and five different sorts of blankets and duvets on it so we can roll around all night. All as mismatched as possible - really kitschy.’

‘We’ll play guitar in bed until late, until I fall asleep with my bass pics still in hand. And when we wake up in the morning you’ll make your nasty tea and I’ll put on a record on the record player next to the bed so we can stay in late and listen to the Beatles, and we’ll be happy.’

Those last words were the most meaningful Brian had heard John say concerning their upcoming freedom - whether Brian would be released at the end of this reassessment trial or whether he would have to sit out his time at Queen Mary’s until the end, they would stay together, and they would be happy. They’d overcome the turbulence of their youth, the problems of the past, the battles with themselves - they’d be together, united, and they’d be happy together. They’d have each other even if the world around them would crumble, and catch each other if they would fall.

Brian tightened his arms around John’s torso, and pulled him in for a chaste but meaningful kiss on the lips.

‘And we’ll be happy.’

# # # 

Unfortunately for the pair of them, John’s new-found positive outlook on Brian’s reassessment and leaving Queen Mary’s behind did not last long. A mere few hours after Brian and he had signed paperwork and reunited with Freddie and Roger for a game of mensch-ärgere-dich-nicht, a bomb threat from an anonymous culprit - most likely to be an ex-patient or relative to a patient of Queen Mary’s - destroyed whatever had been left of the atmosphere as the entire populace was escorted into the basement while police flocked around the building. Nothing was found, but the threat and the stress of hours spent in suspense waiting for the police report had put a permanent strain on all four of the members of Room 41, and none of them slept well during the night that followed. The usual drill of incident-filled mealtimes and hostility in the hallways and activity rooms took their toll on John, who was further discouraged from the forced acquittal process through another string of meetings with counsellors who tried arranging help he didn’t want and resources he didn’t need. 

Brian tried to keep John somewhat upbeat by reminding him of the upcoming visit of his parents, which he hoped John would see as a safe haven to stay after Queen Mary’s, but it seemed to have the polar opposite effect on John. Instead of taking comfort in the fact that there would be a family waiting to take him in when he would be released, the mere idea of moving in with people he did not know and living at their expense seemed to freak John out, and no amount of reassurance from Brian that his parents would not mind and would love to take him in could convince him otherwise - to the point where on the day of the scheduled meeting, John hardly dared to come out of his bed.

‘Come on, lovie,’ said Brian, who had seated himself on the bed next to John. His partner, currently lying on his stomach with his face buried in a pillow, tried hard to ignore him. ‘Nolan will be here in a few minutes. You have to get up.’

‘Don’t wanna,’ John murmured into his pillow. 

‘I know, but you’re going to do great.’ When John ignored this comment, Brian sighed, running a hand over John’s back. ‘What are you most afraid of?’

John huffed. ‘Everything.’

Well, that was not exactly a conclusive answer, but Brian knew what he meant. John feared meeting his parents, their reaction to him, the paperwork they’d have to sign, and most of all, the finality of his time at Queen Mary’s the meeting would signify. They would talk of plans for the future and questions would be asked regarding his background, his mental situation, his ideas for the upcoming years - the mere idea of which Brian knew freaked John out. Still, he remained hopeful that he could convince his boyfriend to get up, brave his fears, and go out there; it was important that John would get to see his parents at least once before permanently moving in with them, regardless of whether Brian would be joining him right away or not. Especially if Brian’s request of reassessment would be denied it would be important that John at least knew who his parents were, given that he’d then go to live with them without having Brian there to be his rock in an otherwise unknown environment. 

‘You shouldn’t be. My parents won’t think anything negative about you, believe me.’

‘I’m sure they’re thrilled to find that their only son came home with a suicidal college dropout who was disowned by his own family,’ John said, and Brian felt his heart sink in. He hated having to hear his partner talk about himself in this manner, and was determined to make him feel more secure about himself - especially in the light of the upcoming visit.

‘Everyone in here is a dropout of some sort. Does that mean we’re all failures? Does that mean Roger, Freddie, and I are failures?’ Brian knew it was a bit cruel to put John on the spot like this, but his words seemed to have some effect on his partner.

‘Of course you’re not. You have plans to go back to school and make something of your life.’

‘And you don’t?’ Brian asked him. ‘You don’t want to go back to college at some point in time?’

John shrugged. ‘I guess.’

Knowing that this was likely to be the most he was going to get out of John at this point in time, Brian said: ‘You will. We’re going to get out of here, take some time to readjust, go back to school, find ourselves an apartment. I’ll finish my degree and you’ll finish yours, or find a job you enjoy, or- or whatever makes you happy. I’ll support you regardless of what you choose to do.’

John now turned around to lie on his back and looked at him, and it looked like he wanted to say something - a word of thanks, or an affirmation that he’d do the same for Brian - but he ended up just looking at Brian until his gaze was eventually pulled away from his boyfriend when a knock on the door distracted his attention.

‘I’ll go get it, dears,’ said Freddie as he bounced off the bed with a bit too much enthusiasm for his emaciated body, but he nevertheless made it to the door without too much visible trouble. The door was opened and Freddie enthusiastically exclaimed that Nolan had arrived (a useless statement really, given that no one else but their mentor would ever approach their ‘stink cave,’ as Roger had taken to calling their room as of late) but neither of his friends reacted to the announcement. They just sat there, each on their own side of the bed, looking at each other; Brian with a glimpse of hope and John with a look of desolation on his face. Brian knew John would have given it all he owned to be able to skip this meeting, which gave Brian all the more reason to try his best and pick his boyfriend up from the depth of the mental rabbit hole he had dug himself into.

‘Come, let’s get up. Nolan is waiting for us,’ Brian said. He deliberately let out the fact that his parents must be waiting on them, too - the mere mentioning of the presence of his mum and dad was enough to make John slide back into desolation. Brian had never seen anyone as anxious about a meeting as John was at that given moment, and he was running out of things to say to comfort him.

‘Baby, you know you won’t be alone there. I’ll be with you the entire time, and so is Nolan,’ Brian said. John didn’t react. ‘Do you need anyone else there? Maybe Freddie or Roger…?’ he said with a hesitant look towards the other side of the room, but he was luckily met with smiles and nods.

‘Of course!’ Roger said, the overly enthusiastic tone of his reply quickly explained when he added: ‘I’ll have to miss my counselling for once, but I don’t think that will matter too much.’

‘No, I’m fine. Just Brian and Nolan will do,’ John said, much to the relief of everyone apart from the proposer himself.

‘Well, Nolan and I are ready whenever you are,’ Brian told him, then corrected himself when he realised the vast liberty this statement would grant his partner to stay in their room for the remainder of the day. ‘Nolan and I are ready, and we’d like to go. There’s a lot to discuss and they’ve planned an hour for this meeting,’ he said, careful to address the discussion of future plans with his parents as neutral as possible.

‘Hm-hmm,’ John hummed as a form of answer, but his eyes were empty, and he made no movements that indicated he was planning on getting up from the bed anywhere soon. Brian thus took matters into his own hands and stood up from the bed, taking a few steps to the left so he could stand in front of John.

‘Come on, honey. Time to go. We have to take care of this sooner or later.’ Brian reached out a hand towards his partner to help him get up from the bed, but John merely stared at it. Brian heard the soft murmur of Freddie’s and Nolan’s voices behind him, and he sighed deeply before crouching down to John’s level.

‘Listen, darling. I know you’re not very comfortable about meeting my parents and talking about what to do when you have to leave Queen Mary’s, but you’re only making it harder on yourself by not cooperating. You’ll have to leave in about three weeks, and we can’t change that. The best thing we can do is arrange something so we can stay together and support each other.’

John blinked, then finally spoke. ‘But what if you won’t be allowed to leave?’ 

‘Then I want to make sure you’ll be in the best place possible until I’ll be dismissed. And that place is going to be at my parents’ house. Please, John, give this a chance. I know you’re nervous, and you don’t want things to change, but things will change, and we’re gonna have to deal with that in the best way possible.’ Brian’s voice was a bit more insistent than he would have liked for it to be, but it at last seemed to have an effect on John.

‘Promise me you won’t leave me alone in there,’ John whispered - pleaded, nearly.

‘I promise. You just have to say the word to let me know you’re no comfortable. And you don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to answer, in case anyone might ask them,’ Brian vowed. ‘Come with me?’ he asked. He stretched his hand towards John again, and this time John took it.

John was still visibly nervous - the smile he gave Nolan when they came face to face with him in the hallway looked tensed rather than sincere, and he kept his head down as they walked through the hallways, past the canteen and the staff rooms and into the corridor leading to the visiting area. Brian had only been to the place a few times before, but he remained uneasy each time a guard opened the multiple barred doors they crossed on their way. 

‘Your parents have already arrived, I’ve been told,’ Nolan said to Brian. ‘They’ve also signed the paperwork in which they vow to take in John and you, or just John in case of- well, in that case,’ Nolan cut himself off when Brian shot him a look. Brian was glad that his mentor understood the hint - right as John was heading for the meeting he’d been dreading since the very moment it had been planned was not exactly the right moment to bring up all that could still go wrong in Brian’s process. The string of meetings with Professor Fisher, the independent psychiatrists who had been assigned to supervise the case and oversee Brian’s ability to return to society, had gone well, and the professor had given his blessing to Brian’s appeal. It had been a victory for Brian and all those around him - apart from John. Every time an obstacle was removed from Brian’s path towards accelerated freedom, all John seemed to be able to see were the new mountains showing up on the way. 

To some extent, John had a point. Even though he had managed to push his appeal for freedom past the internal staff of Queen Mary’s and an outsider in the form of a psychiatrist, Brian had no guarantees that the eventual jury he’d have to beat up to would grant him leave. Especially the presence of his former psychiatrist Doctor Sumner did not sit comfortably with him, but he refused to let this prospect weigh him down; he had a task in front of him, and he was going to give it all he could. Nothing, not John’s negativity nor his own nerves, and most of all not Doctor Sumner’s preening eyes and tight-lipped smile were going to hold him back.

Nolan babbled on about the contact he’d had with Brian’s parents over the phone - something Brian had been unaware of, and something he did not know whether to appreciate or to be wary of - but it was only when they reached the last door that separated the three of them from his parents that Brian really felt his attention resurfacing to the presence. The guard who had walked them all the way over searched their pockets for forbidden items and had a small fit over the shaving cream bottle cap Brian had forgotten he’d put in his back pocket that morning for no particular reason other than not knowing where to leave it as he was shaving. Nolan managed to convince the guy that it was nothing, so the item was confiscated and they were given leave to enter the heavy iron door.

‘Alright, folks. Are you ready?’ Nolan asked with his usual upbeat expression on his face as he stepped over the threshold of the door. Brian was ready to do the same, but one look at John was all he needed to know that John needed a few more words of encouragement.

‘One second, Nole,’ Brian said, not realising he just called his mentor by the nickname Freddie sometimes used to refer to him in private. He stepped into the direction of John, who was still standing next to the guard - and who slipped back a few steps when Brian approached him.

‘John…’ Brian said quietly.

‘I- I can’t do this,’ John told him. ‘I need more time. I can’t do this now.’

‘But there isn’t more time,’ Brian said. Then, stepping close quickly enough to make it impossible for John to back away from him any further, he placed his hands on either of his boyfriend’s shoulders and said: ‘Listen, John. I wish I could give you all the time in the world, but we don’t have that luxury. We have to step up now to make the best out of the situation; we’ll regret it if we let Queen Mary’s rehabilitation services figure out our future for us,’ Brian said. ‘And I know you think you’re expected to go out there and put on your brightest smile and act like the perfect foster child or whatever for my parents to take you into their house, but you don’t. You don’t have to live up to any expectations. You don’t have to be perfectly sociable and nice - it’s not a competition where the winner takes it all and the loser is left behind. There is no losing here, you see?’ Brian took a second to take a break from his monologue, but picked it up again before John could disagree with him. ‘You’re going to get out of his Godawful place and move into a home where people will care for you, regardless of whether I’ll be released right away or a few months later. My parents already signed the papers and they promised to take you in and take care of you for as long as needed. And you don’t have to worry about them liking you or not, because they will.’

John had remained perfectly blank throughout the soliloquy, but he snorted at those last words. ‘They won’t. I’m a disappointment.’

‘You’re perfect and they’re gonna love you. You’re smart and funny and polite - if you choose to be so - and perfect company. My parents have always wanted to have a second child, and getting one at the age of twenty doesn’t mean they’ll be any less enthusiastic,’ Brian said with a little smile, and he could see that John’s face copied his despite his lover trying to look away from him. ‘And as for you… You could do with a family after all these years. A real family.’

At the mentioning of these words, John turned his face away from him even further, but this did not prevent Brian from seeing that tears were brimming his eyes. The idea of having a family, a house to come home to every night, a space where he did not have to feel like an outsider, a burden, an unwanted alien - Brian could tell that it touched John, and he knew that this was the right moment to usher him through the door before either of them could think better of it.

‘Come on. Let’s go in,’ Brian whispered with a soft yet steady hand on the small of John’s back. He heard John smother a sob and saw him wipe the back of his hand across his eyes, but once this had been taken care of, he allowed Brian to gently usher him towards the door through which Nolan had just disappeared. John halted for a second when they neared the threshold - his hand seemed to be seeking Brian’s, and the guitarist placed his hand on John’s and squeezed it shortly. 

‘I’m right here with you.’

‘I know,’ John whispered. With that, he stepped over the threshold; Brian followed him, and then the guard closed the iron door behind them, leaving no way back until the end of the meeting. It was a thought that Brian knew should freak John out, but personally he was rather relieved to know that there was no other way for John than to follow him to his parents.

The meeting room seemed a lot larger than the last time to Brian - which was probably at least partially to blame to the fact that it had been filled with patients and their family members and at least a handful of guards and other supervisors the few times he’d visited so far. This time, however, his eyes darted around the room without seeing more than a single guard flicking through a leaflet in the corner of the room. There was one single occupied table at the other end of the room, towards which Nolan was currently making his way. He could make out the figures of his parents, who were standing up from their chairs as the stranger approached them. He could see his mum shove her handbag into her husband’s hands as the mentor reached a hand towards her.

‘Good morning, folks!’ Brian could hear Nolan say with a perfect mixture of politeness and informality. ‘I’m Nolan Ferrier - we’ve spoken on the phone.’ Brian watched as first his mother’s and then his father’s hand was pulled into a strong handshake from Nolan’s side. They seemed to share a few more quiet words, and Brian suddenly realised that Jon and he had not moved on any further than perhaps three feet away from the door. 

‘Come, let’s go over there. I’ll go first.’ Without awaiting John’s reply as to avoid giving him the opportunity to protest, Brian walked past the first row of empty tables. He heard the sound of John’s shoes clicking on the floor behind him confirming that his partner was following him. He then changed his walking pace to a more rapid one - he did not want to waste any time that could be used for coming to agreements for when either John came to live with them, either on his own or with him straight away.

The second his parents caught sight of him, the polite discussion of some sort they had been following with Nolan was wrapped up; hands were detached and excuses were made, and they turned to walk into his direction. He could hear his mother call his name - first softly, then louder - and his smile brightened. He hadn’t seen his parents since the last family visit, which had been at least three weeks ago at least. Their enthusiasm for seeing him, however, never seemed to subside; they were as happy and emotional as they came to him now as they had been the very first time they’d been granted entrance into the visiting room of Queen Mary’s to come see their son. Brian could already hear his mother’s first sobs before they had even gotten towards each other, although it was only a second or so later that they met in the middle. Brian was caught in the surprisingly strong grip of his mother’s arms, followed by those of his father. Being embraced by his parents always felt so secure, so safe - it was like coming home regardless of how far away he was from his paternal house.

‘Oh, Brian, my love! How are you?’ The voice of his mother was high and shrill so close to his ear, but it did not seem to Brian that this was an appropriate moment to say something about it.

‘I’m fine, mum. You know you don’t have to worry about me,’ he mumbled against the shoulder of his father. This time there were no guards telling them to break up and sit down - just the three of them getting a moment to express their love for each other through touch rather than through words. Not that that stopped Brian’s mother from blabbering on, though…

‘But you know I do,’ his mother sighed. ‘A reassessment! I didn’t even know what it was! Or that it was possible! And that you were already working on it-‘

‘Don’t wind yourself up too much, dear,’ Harold interrupted the stream of words flowing from his wife’s mouth. ‘Mister Ferrier will tell us all about it in a moment, I’m sure.’

Brian opened his eyes at the mentioning of his mentor, whom he had completely ignored since the moment he had met eyes with his parents. Much to his relief he saw Nolan smiling at him lazily, but the same, he assumed, could not be said about John. His boyfriend, who remained standing a few feet behind him, could hardly be comfortable around the family scene he was currently witnessing. Brian thus pulled himself away from the arms of his parents, and took a step back to line up next to the person he’d momentarily neglected.

‘Mum, Dad, this is John, my friend and roommate.’ Brian felt himself beam with pride as he introduced the boy around whom he’d centred his life for the past few months, and his parents seemed equally eager to meet him and exchange some words with the person their son had been unable to shut up about lately.

‘Oh, John! How good to finally meet you!’ his mother all but cooed, extending a hand towards him. ‘I’m Ruth May - Brian’s mother.’ John followed her example and shook hands with her and introduced himself somewhat awkwardly.

‘Er, it’s great to see you too. I’m John Deacon.’ He forced a small smile and withdrew his hand as quickly as possible; Brian hoped his mum would take no offence. He had told them during their last phone call that John was incredibly nervous - and that his antisocial personality disorder meant that he was not one to enjoy himself in social situations - so that they should be a bit lenient on him. Knowing his parents, they would behave just so; but Brian did feel that a lot of questions concerning John would be coming up as soon as his boyfriend would be out of their sight, especially when his father took his turn to introduce himself.

‘John, I’m Harold May,’ Brian’s father told him as he took John’s hand in his own. ‘We’ve heard a lot about you.’

Brian saw the smile wash off John’s face. ‘Is that an, uh, good or a bad sign?’ he asked with a renewed fake smile and a hint of humour, but Brian knew that it was really the joke which John tried to play it off yet. His mother laughed her typical, high-pitched laugh, and said she loved his humour, and his father was chuckling still when he disclaimed it had been a pretty good picture that had been painted of him by their son. Neither of this worked, though - and it was only when Brian put an arm around him that his tensed body relaxed a little.

‘A good sign, Deaky. Do you think I’d tell them bad stories about you? Do you think I even have bad stories to tell about you?’

John looked at him thoroughly at first, as if he was deciding whether Brian was playing with him or not, but eventually the slightest of a smile broke through. The somewhat awkward silence, however, by then had already prompted Nolan to speak up.

‘Shall we sit down and go over the arrangements? We’ve got quite a bit to discuss.’

John seemed to be most enthusiastic about following Nolan’s proposal. He agreed whole-heartedly and paced towards the table on which Brian’s parents had been sitting before. Nolan, who - as usual - seemed to sense exactly what he was feeling, made sure to sit next to him on the one side, and made Brian sit down on the other. Harold and Ruth sat across from them and waited for Nolan to bring out the papers he’d brought with him in a dark red folder with Brian’s name and patient number printed on the front. Brian saw John getting fidgety with the hem of his shirt while Nolan looked for the right papers, and placed a hand on John’s leg underneath the table.

‘Alright,’ Nolan eventually declared when he’d found the papers he had been looking for, and closed the folder to put it aside. ‘What we’re here for today is to go over the agreements which have been made for John’s rehabilitation into society, and that of Brian in case that his reassessment will be approved. I’m first just going to go through some formalities,’ Nolan announced. ‘Is it correct that you are Harold and Ruth May, parents of Brian May?’

‘Correct,’ Harold said.

‘So far so good,’ Nolan smiled. ‘And you were the ones who applied for your son to be admitted into Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital, together with his psychiatrist Doctor L. J. Sumner?’ Brian felt his stomach turn at the mere mention of the name of his previous psychiatrist, but he buckled up for the sake of everyone around him. His father once again confirmed, together with the date on which they had filled out the application and the date of approval.

‘Then, according to this file right here…’ Nolan’s voice trailed down near the end of the sentence as he searched for the right paper. ‘Ah, here. According to this, you handed Brian over to the care of Queen Mary’s on March fifteen, nineteen seventy-one, by bringing him over and seeing to it that he was taken in.’

‘Yes. Wasn’t it you that took him in?’ Ruth asked. Nolan nodded with a small smile.

‘It was. It’s just that the protocol tells me to have you confirm all these details - because, as the next point tells me, you volunteered and were approved to take Brian back under your roof and carry parental responsibility for his well-being and further recovery when he would be released from Queen Mary’s?’

‘We are. And we still stand by that,’ said Harold, which preceded the next question Nolan was to read out loud. They were reminded of what it meant to be the guardians of Brian in a mental health context, and of which people to inform and turn to in case things went downhill again. That, if Brian had a fallback, he could be reported and taken back into Queen Mary’s, but that this would first need investigation, and could not happen overnight. This point seemed to make his mother more than just a little nervous - but, upon Brian ensuring her that chances of this happening were small, and Nolan telling her that help would always be available in case of acute danger, she eventually agreed. A few more such questions were answered and considered before Nolan placed down the papers and started looking for another set.

‘Now, as we all know, these arrangements will be critical in case Brian gets released after his reassessment trial. We cannot guarantee when or if that will happen, but what we do know is that John will be released in three weeks,’ Nolan said, and Brian saw John’s jaw clenching. The soothing hand stroking John’s leg seemed to be able to do little to soothe him when Nolan spoke on. ‘John Richard Deacon, taken in on September three, nineteen sixty-nine at age eighteen, after his foster guardians Alec Baldwin and Molly Baldwin-Forester signed him up to be taken into Queen Mary’s when they could no longer deal with his mental problems.’

‘Foster guardians?’ Ruth sounded surprised, if not a little afraid. Nolan looked at John as to find out whether he was allowed to tell them what happened, or if he should tell them that John would tell them later. Brian remembered having told his parents at one point during this past week’s phone calls and conversations that John could not return to the aunt and uncle with whom he had lived before being taken into Queen Mary’s, but he was afraid that his mother at the moment failed to see that the foster guardians which Nolan referred to were nothing more than John’s aunt and uncle. He knew the official documents referred to them as his foster guardians, but he understood how different, how dramatic this sounded - as if John had been a problematic child who had gone through multiple sets of foster parents over the years, the last pair of which had sent him away to a mental institution. It was far from the truth, but Brian could hardly blame his parents for getting an idea like this in their head.

To his utter surprise, John hardly blinked when he offered an explanation to Brian’s parents. ‘I was taken in by my aunt and uncle after my mum could no longer combine the care of my disabled sister with taking care of me,’ he said, which Brian had to admit was not a lie - just a very polished version of what he had actually gone through with his entire family locking him out. Brian could not blame him, though, for John only telling part of the truth to his parents. He doubted he would have been able to disclose more about his terrific past to a pair of strangers upon first meeting them - especially in John’s current state of being.

‘Disabled sister-’ Brian heard his father mumble, but he effectively managed to shut him up by giving the man, who was sitting across from him at the table, a light kick against the shin. His father’s face retorted, but he did not protest; he seemed to understand that this was not the right time or place to discuss the ins and outs of John’s life. Besides, Brian had clearly instructed them not to pry into John’s personal business; he would tell them what he wanted them to know as soon as he felt comfortable around them.

Nolan, like the hero he was, continued his story. ‘Alec and Molly Baldwin thus handed John over to the care of Queen Mary’s, but while our staff has reached out to them to tell them their nephew will soon be released and to ask them if they are willing to take him in again, they have declined their responsibility, and do not wish to be involved in backing John up in his rehabilitation process whatsoever, as they stated in a formal letter we received the other day.’ A light brown envelope was brought up and put in the middle of the table. Four pairs of eyes stared at it, but no one seemed to dare make a move or say a word. ‘John’s mother has also been informed, but she- she declared herself to be unfit of taking care of John again, referring to- her daily task of taking care of-’

‘Of my sister, yes. I expected so,’ John finished the sentence of Nolan, of whom both Brian and he was currently making up a more socially acceptable answer to refuse to take in a son again than what she really had told the staff upon being contacted. Brian wondered if she had yelled, if she had cursed her son, if she had laughed viciously and asked if they were out of their mind to ask her to take back the person who she deemed the one to have ruined her life. Brian guessed he would never know, and perhaps it was better like that - especially if John would also be spared from the probably /scalding/ reply his mother had made to the request.

‘Your sister, yes. Your mother sees herself currently unfit to combine, eh, her care with that of you,’ Nolan said. ‘Other family members we unfortunately could not reach. So that…’ he stressed while looking at the couple sitting across from him, ‘is where the pair of you come in’. 

Silence for a moment while Ruth and Harold looked at each other. Brian could see the doubt and uncertainty in their eyes. He realised he had sort of convinced them overnight to have both him and his secret boyfriend come back to live under the same roof as them over the past few days; after all, there had not been more than about a week between the first moment he had rung them to tell them about his plans of getting a reassessment, and this meeting which had been scheduled last-minute as his psychiatrist had approved him for the first round of his trial. He knew his parents were hesitant people in general, and the fact that they both did not know John and that they realised he suffered from mental problems wasn’t making it easy on them. Learning now that he came from a troubled family background also wasn’t making matters any less complicated for his parents, but Brian refused to let their fear of the unknown ruin his opportunity to escape Queen Mary’s with John - and, much more importantly, John’s chances of a stable future to make up for all the pain he had gone through in the past decade. 

‘Yes. Mum and Dad are willing to take in both John and me when we are released,’ Brian said in what he liked to consider a helping hand, but which his parents obviously had a different opinion about. 

‘We- yes. We are certainly willing,’ his father said, straightening his tie. ‘But, er, there are certain… uncertainties that will need to be clarified first.’

‘Of course,’ Nolan said in the most understanding of tones. ‘Of course. We have come to understand that, as far as we have been informed, you have no experience with caring for foster children - foster patients, in this case,’ Nolan said. Brian hated the word foster patient already. 

‘Exactly.’ Ruth shook her head vehemently, glad that Nolan understood they had reservations about the case now that everything was starting to get so real so quickly. ‘We have no prior experience with taking people in, and especially not young people.’

‘You’ve dealt with me for twenty-four years,’ Brian reminded them, but this unfortunately was not what they meant.

‘Of course it feels strange to let someone into your house at first - especially when it is someone you are not related to,’ Nolan admitted. ‘But experience leans that guardians and subjects, as they are commonly referred to, usually get into a good flow quickly, and can grow tight bonds.’

‘I see,’ Ruth said, obviously still doubting. Brian chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

‘You do not have to worry about finances either - as John is under twenty-one, one can appeal to the state for subvention. After he turns twenty-one, you can still get subvention for taking care of someone with mental health issues. We can help you fill out the application,’ Nolan said in what seemed like another attempt to convince Harold and Ruth not to come back on their promise to take John in. Brian appreciated it, but unfortunately his parents did not take the bait. 

‘Oh, the finances I’m not too worried about. But is there any sort of - aftercare after Queen Mary’s?’ Ruth asked. ‘To make sure John won’t… slip back into old habits?’ Brian was not entirely pleased about his mother using the word habits when referring to John’s depression and anti-social spells, but he was given no time to protest.

‘Naturally,’ Nolan assured her. ‘Queen Mary’s has an extensive programme, which consists of weekly meetups with either a patient’s psychiatrist before coming here, during their stay, or one that specifically works in our aftercare programme. Furthermore every ex-patient will also enroll in a programme to help them either find a job or go back to school, and help them build up their future.’

‘I would love to go back to college,’ John broke in shyly but confidently. ‘I want to finish my studies. I used to do electrical engineering at Chelsea College in London. It’s a- uh, College of Advanced Technology. Known as one of the best around the country,’ John said in what sounded to Brian like a helpless plead to make himself desirable to his parents. Brian felt a knot form in his stomach by merely listening to it - it was disheartening that his parents were being so distant and doubtful all of a sudden, especially right in John’s face. John, the person he loved with all his heart; the person who deserved the world and more, especially after continuously having been held down from it. The person for whom Brian hoped for a good ending to this entire mental health drama more than he did for himself or anyone else in the world. Seeing him being denied by his parents was one of the most painful things he had ever witnessed, and he had gone through quite some disheartening situations at Queen Mary’s.

Harold, either not seeing or ignoring his son’s deadly glares, nodded slowly. ‘Electrical engineering. A fine subject. You’ll never be out of work with a solid degree like that.’

‘Absolutely,’ Nolan agreed. ‘It will give him something to focus on - make sure he keeps himself busy. Studies show that people recovering from mental illness are three times more successful when they have a job or studies to focus on.’

‘I can also find a weekend job on top of that,’ John offered. ‘So you won’t have me hanging around the house, you know.’

‘Oh, that is not- not at all what we’re worried about, John,’ Harold said. Then, clearing his throat, he finally said the thing Brian had been fearing for the entire meeting. Putting his hand on that of his wife’s, he brought up to Nolan: ‘An issue I feel that my wife and I are currently facing, is that we are not… we are not mental health experts. We were not trained to deal with depression, and borderline, and-‘ he paused for a second as he looked at John, and eventually concluded his sentence with the words: -‘similar issues.’

‘Dad!’ Brian hissed at him, but this only made matters worse.

‘Your father is right, dear,’ his mother intervened. ‘We do not know how to deal with mental health issues. We don’t know John and his… his mental situation, or how to deal with it. You know what happened when you were at your worst…’

‘But he’s not at his worst anymore, and neither am I. John is being released because he’s doing so well,’ Brian said - which was not entirely the truth, but which he decided his parents did not need to know that it was either being let go of or getting locked up into long-stay facilities - ‘and I am the first person to qualify for a reassessment in years. Right, Nolan?’ Brian said, turning to his mentor sharply. ‘Right?’

‘Er, yes,’ Nolan said, clearly taken aback somewhat by Brian’s sudden fierceness. ‘You are the first in years to qualify, and John is doing well enough to leave Queen Mary’s.’ Again, this was only technically the truth, but Brian was grateful to his mentor for helping both John and Him. Nolan probably realised just as well as he did that this was the best chance John had to make a head start and not to end up in some shabby rehabilitation home and programme focussed on substance abusers and victims of domestic violence rather than on his antisocial personality disorder, and have his life spiral down even further than it had before. 

‘See? There will be no problem, Dad. I promise,’ Brian said with as much confidence he could muster. 

‘I am sure that John will behave well, and that chances of problems arising will be slim,’ his father tried to hush him. ‘But his - what was it, asocial personality?’

‘Antisocial personality disorder,’ Brian grumbled.

‘His antisocial personality - I fear it works just like your depression and borderline. Things can go well for a while, but when you had fallbacks, we could do absolutely nothing to help you. You were either unattainable, or overly emotional, or unreasonably angry and depressed - and that was just borderline, as to say so. What if John ends up in one of his antisocial spells? What are we supposed to do with that?’

‘You will be given guidance prior to taking John in, mister May,’ Nolan tried, but Brian was not as calm as his mentor was.

‘Then you leave him be! He’ll manage, and he’ll come back to himself in due time! Being antisocial in essence just means having moments of not wanting to interact with anyone and wanting to be left alone - a whole lot easier than dealing with my troubles, let me tell you.’

‘Brian…’ John called his name carefully. 

‘We understand, dear,’ Ruth said. ‘But we know you - we know what to expect of you.’

‘Yes, you knew what to expect,’ Brian said dryly. ‘That’s why you sent me away to Queen Mary’s, right? Because you knew exactly how to handle me.’

‘Brian.’ His name was called again, but this time in a more threatening fashion, coming from his father. ‘You’re our child - we’ve known you all your life. We do not know John, do not know his illness, his family, his background, his life story…’ 

‘So that’s a reason not to take him in and help him? Because you can’t verify that his parents are a decent middle-class couple with a husband working nine-to-five-hours at a company of national importance, and a happy housewife who has dinner ready at precisely six o’clock each day?’

‘Of course not,’ Harold objected. ‘You’re being ridiculous now.’

‘No, you’re being ridiculous!’ Brian said. He could hear Nolan telling him not to talk to his parents like that, but could not move himself to care about what anyone thought of him telling his parents some home truths. ‘You promised to help John, to take him in and give him a chance! And if you care to know his background so much - John came from a perfectly fine family, including nine-to-five job holder and happy housewife, until his parents lost a son, his sister was left severely disabled after an accident, and within the same year, his father died. Are you happy now?’

Brian could hear John take in a sharp breath of air beside him, and somewhere deep inside, he felt bad for having told half of history so casually to his parents for the sake of making a case against their hesitation to take someone they didn’t know under their wing. However, his frustration and determination to fulfil John’s promise of letting him move in with his family and building a stable background where he would be loved, accepted, part of a larger community, left him unable o do much more than put his hand on John’s shoulder and staring at his parents with cold eyes.

Harold was the first to break the silence when he coughed and shifted in his chair. Turning to Nolan, he said: ‘Gentlemen, could you give us a moment? A word between my wife and me and our son?’

‘Most certainly,’ said Nolan, who seemed almost eager to remove himself and John from the battlefield the discussion had turned into. ‘John and I will be just around the door. Call us when you need us again - because, and I don’t want to put pressure on anyone, but the papers will have to be signed today. Both to strengthen Brian’s case for his reassessment, and for John - because if he cannot stay with your family, our staff will have to arrange a place for him in a communal home.’

Brian could feel John’s eyes turning to him, wild and panicky, and he had to count to three before allowing himself to look at John out of fear that he might either start crying or start yelling if he did so right away. He was hurt, frustrated, angry, humiliated, betrayed - all of those both on his own account but mostly on that of John, who he had promised that he’d be allowed to live with his family upon being released from Queen Mary’s. His parents had promised him so, after all. They had been inviting and understanding and tolerant when speaking of the matter mere days ago, but now that things were starting to get real, they seemed to be getting cold feet. It made Brian feel sick and disgusted - it made him feel ashamed of being their son. 

‘It’s okay,’ he gritted when he eventually gathered the self-control to calmly look John in the eyes. ‘I’ll fix this, I promise.’

The legs of Nolan’s chair scraped along the floor when he stood up. ‘You coming, John? I think the May family needs some time to discuss.’

John looked at Brian with a sense of desperation, but nodded stiffly and stood up also. Brian put his hand on John’s briefly in passing, but John did not look up; he simply followed Nolan towards the exit of the room, leaving Brian with a taste of bitterness in his mouth and the feeling of his cold, thin fingers on his own. 

Brian found himself curling the fingers of his right hand into a fist, and tensed them until the knuckles grew white and the back of his hand pale and veiny. He stared at it in a determined mission to avoid any sort of contact with his parents until the heavy iron door of the visiting hall fell shut behind John and Nolan. 

His father was the first to talk between the three of them. ‘Look, Brian, we understand that you’re angry, but we need some time to process everything we’ve been told today,’ Harold said. ‘It’s not nothing to take in someone new, and to be responsible for them and live with them under the same roof for the upcoming God knows how long.’ Brian knew his father was looking straight at him as he spoke, but he refused to look back or acknowledge his presence in any other way.

‘Besides, what do we know about his condition? What if his anti… antisocial behaviour comes up again when he lives with us? Or worse, perhaps, if his trauma comes up?’ Despite himself, Brian looked up to face his mother as she mentioned the word trauma. He immediately regretted it as it seemed to give her the idea that she had made a point she ought to elaborate. ‘Everything we heard today about his father’s death, his sister’s disability, living with his aunt and uncle until they sent him away… It’s a lot to carry. Both for him and for us.’

Brian leaned back in his chair when his mother had finished her part of the monologue. So that’s what they were afraid of - that John would bring his trauma, his troubles, his history, into their lives. That having to live with someone who’d gone through a rough childhood would be hard on them, and not on the person who actually had to pick up his life again after having taken such a terrible start to it. It hardly surprised Brian to hear that his parents, two painfully average lower-middle-class citizens leading a painfully average life in their painfully average semi-detached suburban three bedroom-house, were opposed to take someone in from a less fortunate background out of fear that it would inconvenience their perfectly shallow little lives. It was shallow and embarrassing, and Brian did not have the words to properly tell his parents what he thought about their attitude. 

‘So that’s what you want, then?’ he eventually ended up saying after having chewed the inside of his cheek raw. ‘To break your promise and have John be sent off to a bloody communal home? My best friend, with whom I’ve spent the past half a year here? An anxious twenty-year-old with a traumatic family background and the remains of a depression, living with a bunch of crackheads in a filthy communal home in East End London?’

‘We never promised-’ his father calmly intervened, but he was interrupted just as quickly as he had taken the floor. 

‘But you did!’ Brian said, voice louder now. ‘You said you’d take both of us in, or him first and then me if I wouldn’t be released after this fucking trial, and allow us to build up a life again until we could stand on our own two feet! You promised!’ He was close to tears now - tears of anger and frustration and sheer humiliation that these liars called themselves his parents. The two people across the table shared a look that Brian couldn’t quite make out with his blurry tearstained view, but he knew they realised he was not going to take this breach of trust sitting down. 

‘I know, Brian,’ his father eventually said. ‘I know we did that. But that was before we knew the circumstances.’

Brian huffed out a laugh despite himself. ‘Circumstances? I told you about John, and his antisocial personality disorder, and that his sister was disabled, his father was dead, and that he used to live with his aunt and uncle before being sent here! You knew that all along, half of this even before there was even talk of either him or me being released. And now you’re changing your mind because of it? I’m calling bullshit.’

‘Brian!’

The person addressed ignored his mother’s admonitory calling of his name. ‘It’s bullshit. You’re just using it against John because you’re too lame to help him. To help us! I thought you cared about me!’ Brian realised that especially this last sentence was a petty low shot, but he was willing to steep down to whatever level it took to either convince, threaten, or sabotage his parents into letting John come home with him as they had promised him. 

‘It’s not that easy, Brian. It’s just- it’s very hard to take someone you’ve only known from stories, with a troubled background, into your house and just see what happens,’ Harold said. ‘Your mother and I have had a very rough time while you were away. We don’t know if we could handle having someone else in our house right now. Besides you, of course,’ was added quickly - something Brian didn’t know made matters better or worse. 

‘Oh, yes. I’m sure it’s been very hard on you,’ Brian said cynically, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘It must have been very hard, sitting around at home living your normal life while we tried to survive at Queen Mary’s. Saw people drugging themselves down at the daily. Fights in the canteen and people ending up at the infirmary with broken bones. Someone knocked John to the floor and tried to stab my eye out. Someone was murdered while we were in there, Goddamnit, and you talk about having had a hard time because you didn’t have someone to share boring stories about your nine to five job or the coffee visit to the neighbours with during dinnertime!’ Brian realised he was shouting now, and saw the guard stepping a few steps closer to their table from the corner of his eyes. He wondered if Nolan and John could hear him from the other side, but eventually decided that the iron walls and doors probably had been designed so as to not let through any noise. He did not particularly care so much about Nolan or the guards outside the visiting hall overhearing him, but he’d rather not upset John by having him hear his lack of emotional control in the given situation.

‘They tried- your eye? Someone was murdered?’

Brian should have known that breaking the news of the recent gang wars, the almost daily injuries, and Jimmy’s death-bordering-on-murder to his parents would not be something they’d take lightly. They of course expected their son to be safe at Queen Mary’s; this had been the entire reason they had sent him there rather than keeping him at home to see where his mental problems would take him. However, as he was in the mood to shock and make a statement rather than to comfort his parents about his safety at Queen Mary’s, he raised his voice again.

‘Yes, that’s the place you sent me off to! That’s the place I’ll have to stay in for even longer if they won’t let me go. That’s where’s John’s been in for two years, and the place you’ll send him off to again if you let him be taken into a fucking council house full of drug addicts and criminals and other people he shouldn’t have to deal with! Because unlike me,’ Brian breathed with an index finger prodding into his own chest, ‘unlike me, he doesn’t have a backup plan, or family to take him in! He’ll be left to the government, or a resocialisation programme for criminals and other freaks he doesn’t belong to, or simply to- to the streets!’ Brian could hear his own voice faltering and eventually breaking, so he cut himself off before real cracks would appear in either his voice or his iron facial expression. He knew that Nolan had spoken of a rehabilitation plan hosted by Queen Mary’s, but what this really meant was that people who did not have any family, were disowned by them, or did not want to return to them, were sent to join resocialisation programmes that hardly ever tailored to people recovering from mental illness. They often ended up addicted to drugs, in prison for dealing or robbery, or worse than that. It made his heart ache to even think of the possibility that John might be exposed to scenes like those if he would not be given a proper foundation upon leaving Queen Mary’s - a foundation it seemed that, for the lack of connections and resources of his own, only Brian’s family could provide at the moment. 

‘Oh, darling…’ 

A tissue, produced from his mother’s handbag, was pushed over to his side of the table. Brian hadn’t previously noticed that he had been crying, but moving the back of his hand over his right cheek once proved that he indeed had been doing to. He grabbed the tissue and pressed it against his eyes in an attempt to smother his tears - without much luck, that was. They kept coming and coming and wouldn’t stop, and Brian had no other choice than to give in to them,

‘Brian, my darling...’ The familiar voice of his mother was soft and soothing, but it did not give him any comfort - and neither did the words she spoke, even though Brian knew they were meant to bring him peace of mind. ‘We’ll find a way, okay? I promise we’ll find a way.’

‘What if I was in his place?’ Brian then asked, crumpling the soaked tissue into a ball in his hand. ‘If you- you couldn’t take care of me because you w-were occupied or dead, wouldn’t you want someone else to take me in to recover?’ he asked, now looking directly at his parents with eyes blurred with tears. ‘Or would you rather have me discarded to the streets and venture for- for myself? Would you?’ 

‘We wouldn’t,’ his father said. ‘Of course we wouldn’t. We’ll work this out, Brian,’ he said, but the words didn’t quite land on Brian, who was so far gone into the image of John being expulsed from any sort of society and having to roam the streets at night to find a place to sleep, that the words of his parents didn’t reach him any longer.

‘John is so sweet and good-natured and… and he deserves better than this. So much better than this. Please, you have- you have to help him!’ Sobs now properly overtook Brian’s body, and he rested his face on his hands on the table top. Sounds of chairs scratching the floor and heels clicking on the tiles approached, and then there was an arm around his shoulders and a hand stroking his hair and indistinguishable voices soothing him. It was as if he was five years old again and had screamed for his parents with all of his might after waking up from a dreadful nightmare. He was unsure whether it was a comfort or plain sadness that his parents still came running towards him to soothe him, but it at least felt good to have them at his side again instead of just having them look at him from a distance and staring at him with that weird, empty glance, trying to figure out what on earth was going on in his mind. 

‘It’s okay; everything will be okay.’ His mother stroked his cheek, and Brian thought he felt her press a kiss against his unruly hair. ‘We’re gonna help John. He’s- we’re going to take him in.’

We’re going to take him in. Brian looked up at his mother through teary eyes when these words, the ones that had once been promised and then denied him again, were spoken. Like a magic spell, he was drawn to them, and through a choked sob he whispered: ‘Really?’

His mother exchanged glanced with his dad first, but then pulled away her glance from that of her husband and nodded. ‘Really. We made a promise, after all.’

Brian felt a wave of relief flooding through his veins; one that allowed the muscles throughout his entire body to unclench and his mind to untangle. ‘Thank- thank you,’ he managed to squeak out. His mother smiled a sad smile - one not so much of happiness but one of acceptance - and stepped away from Brian. His father followed her example.

‘Come, dry your tears and come down to yourself,’ she said while handing him another tissue. Surprisingly enough, it was actually feasible for Brian to carry out these instructions now that he had been comforted about the fate of his partner. He wiped his face clean of tears, and by the time he was able to stifle most of the last remaining sobs, he could look his parents in the eyes again.

‘So you promise you’ll let John in? And you… won’t come back on it again?’ Brian asked, just to be sure. After all, he had been let down once before, and he did not know if he could take it to have all of his hopes shatter just like that again.

‘We promise for real this time,’ his father answered without skipping a beat, which Brian took as a good sign. ‘Your mother and I are just overwhelmed, is all. Within a week we got to hear that you would be going for a reassessment, that you wanted to have your new best friend move in with us because he can’t go home, then all these people called us and we received forms to fill out through the mail concerning our responsibilities when you’d be released and all the people and institutes we’d have to be in touch with still… So we just…. Went with it all hoping to be able to talk things over today, but we arrive in a storm of more papers and receptionists and mentors telling us to sign more documents, and then there’s John with this- excuse my languages but… problematic background, and I think we just- didn’t know how to handle it anymore.’

‘But then you should have said so. You should have told Nolan and us you needed more explanation or more time or more guidance, instead of taking ten steps back and breaking your promise to John and me. I haven’t seen him so- so hurt in a long time,’ Brian said. His saliva felt heavy and tough when he swallowed. ‘I told you how nervous John was to meet you over the phone just the other day. I spent a week to convince him to even come along to this meeting; he was too afraid to say or do something that would make you reject him. And then you go and… attack him and push him away for the reasons he can help least? His trauma following the death of his father, and the accident of his sister? His having to live with family because his mum couldn’t take care of him anymore in the depth of his depression? That was- that was plain low, dad. And you too, mum. Really, really low.’

It was only when Brian had uttered this entire soliloquy that he realised when he had said - and he immediately regretted it, despite having meant every single word of it. He knew his parents were not going to take kindly to being lectured by him about what they should and what they shouldn’t do. However, just as he expected to be told off for reprimanding his parents for behaving the way they did, the glance of his father’s face softened.

‘You are right. We were wrong to treat John like that,’ Harold said. Not seeming to know what he was to say afterward, he turned to his wife for support.

‘We will say sorry to John in a minute. I hope we can make him feel welcome still,’ Ruth told Brian, who nodded slowly, thankfully, at his parents.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘That means a lot to the both of us.’

‘It’s just… I know it’s no excuse, and I know that Queen Mary’s must have been a lot harder for you than it was for us,’ his father acknowledged. ‘But I think I speak for both your mum and myself when I say that I’ve been lying awake during the last few nights, wondering if this is really what you want.’

Brian frowned. ‘Whether what is what I want?’

‘This… all of this. To leave Queen Mary’s before your time’s due,’ his dad said.

‘My time is due,’ Brian said with some insistence. ‘I go where John goes, and he goes where I go.’

‘I know,’ his father said. ‘I know- and that’s what I’ve been worried about. That you’re not thinking about your own sanity and well-being, but about John’s only. You understand me?’

‘I do, but-’

‘Doctor Sumner worked hard to give you a spot here at Queen Mary’s, and despite the… circumstances we’ve heard about, we know that trained people do all they can,’ his mother interrupted. ‘Are you sure you want to put all of that aside?’

‘Absolutely positive,’ Brian answered. ‘I’d put everything aside for John - and not just because I… care about him so much, but because I know John is the best help I could possibly have.’

‘But what about your therapy, then?’ his mum asked.

‘He is a better help to me than any of the therapists I’ve spoken to so far, and any therapist I will ever meet in my life,’ Brian said. His father opened his mouth as to say something, but Brian held up his hand to summon him to be quiet. To his own surprise, it seemed to work. ‘John supports me through everything in a way not a single medical professional could ever do. He is always there for me, always tries to cheer me up and cheer me on with everything I do. He’s my rock in a way that no one else could ever be. He’s been my real help at Queen Mary’s, and the real reason why I’m in a much better place now.’ 

By the time Brian had finished this monologue, he noticed his parents really had fallen quiet, and simply blinked at him as to take in all they had just been told. It was at this point also that he realised he was a little out of breath, and, upon placing his hand on his cheek, he found that it was warm and glowing. My God, I must look like an idiot right now, Brian thought to himself. Fortunately for him, though, this was not the message his parents had taken away from the scene he had put himself in.

‘You really care about him, don’t you?’ There was a small smile on his mother’s face as she asked this.

‘Yes,’ Brian sighed. ‘More than about anything or anyone in the world.’

‘Well… It really seems like the only way to help you right now is to help John,’ his father remarked, which Brian realised summarised the current state of affairs pretty well. ‘So that’s what we’re going to do, then.’

Even though this decision had already been secured beforehand, it still made a wave of relief flow through Brian’s veins now that it was reinstigated. They were going to allow John to come live with them; John would have a place to go to; and, sooner or later, depending on the outcome of the reassessment, Brian would be there to live with John and his family again. They’d be together, just the two of them, without any of the disorder and the violence and the overall chaos of Queen Mary’s that currently formed the framework of all they did and said, and they would be happy.

‘We will do that exactly,’ Ruth confirmed, then, turning to her husband, she said: ‘Why don’t you go and fetch John and Nolan, dear, and let me have a second to talk to my boy alone.’ Despite the innocent smile on her face, Brian knew that his mother had something on her mind. His father must have realised this too, for his glance lingered between his wife and his son for a little too long to be just casual, but he then nodded and took his leave either way. 

Ruth waited until her husband was out of earshot, and then turned around to face her son again. 

‘Brian?’ She leant in a bit closer to him, as she would do when she had something serious or confidential to share with him.

‘Yes, mum?’ Brian said, hoping she would not notice how tight his voice sounded already.

‘About John… He’s not just your roommate, or your friend, now is he? He’s more than that.’

Oh, Lord. That was a lot quicker and a lot more to the point than Brian had expected it to be. Of course, he had foreseen the likeliness of his parents expecting something sooner or later once they’d live under the same roof with his parents. He’d thought of the possibility of his mum wondering out loud why they insisted on sleeping in the same room, or his dad remarking that they never left each other’s side. The way they would look at each other, smile at each other, sit a bit too close whenever they got the chance - he had thought of what to say when such matters would be raised. He had not, however, prepared himself for something as straightforward as this question, and in the heat of the moment, he did not trust himself to lie and tell a more socially acceptable answer. Besides, his mother looked at him with such a kind and comforting expression on her face that Brian was positive he could have discarded of a body on her behalf if she would have asked him.

Therefore, he nodded nearly invisibly in response. ‘He is. He’s… We are… everything to each other,’ Brian whispered. ‘I just… need him like I’ve never needed anyone before.’ A smile broke through on his face, but no matter how badly he would have liked for it to have been one of happiness or pride, it would be incorrect to say so. It was a long-hidden feeling of insecurity towards the future, of what people would think of them - of embarrassment and a feeling of failure. Not for loving John, but for breaking the illusion his parents had had of him for so long. An illusion he had had of himself for so long - one that never might have come to the surface if it hadn’t been for John and him crossing paths. Meeting John had changed the entire road of life he had always had in sight for himself, and the realisation that moulding his life around John and what they were together was going to be a reality, in all of its good and bad points, suddenly struck him. Tears filled his eyes, and when his mother did not respond to any he had said and simply looked at him, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’ she asked gently.

‘For- not being what you thought I was,’ he managed. ‘For not coming home with a girl.’

‘Darling…’ Brian knew that voice, and he could feel his mother’s hand reaching out to place itself on top of his own hand before she even completed the action, as a matter of speaking. ‘I don’t care who or what you come home with - whether they’re male or female, or Catholic or Anglican, or black or white or purple with yellow dots. What I care for is that you come home as you, alive and well, unlike - unlike some of the stories you hear sometimes,’ she said, leaving Brian unsure if she meant stories from mental health clinics in general, or the ones he had witnessed and shared with her. ‘I want you to come home happy again, and I can tell that he makes you happy.’

‘He does,’ Brian smiled despite himself. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been.’

‘I know, and that’s what matters to us,’ his mum said. ‘Listen, Brian. Your dad and I wanted for you to come home happy again - that’s what we sent you to Queen Mary’s for. The first few nights after we’d taken you here I could do nothing but crying and praying that sending you here would make you feel better, happier, regardless of how this happiness came about. And God must have heard my prayers.’

‘John is a gift from above,’ Brian smiled. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been, or ever could have imagined being.’

‘That’s settled then.’

‘Really?’ Brian asked, not having thought his mother would be so quick to deal with the fact that her only son came home with a guy. ‘But what about- you, or dad, or grandma, or the rest of the family? Especially dad. He’s- he’s always talked about how he can’t wait till my wedding day, and to see his grandchildren…’

‘I know. He’ll have to readjust his expectations, then,’ his mother shrugged. ‘This isn’t about him or me or anyone else apart from John and you.’

‘Thank you,’ Brian smiled broadly at the recognition he had not ever even hoped to get from his family so soon. Then, a less pleasant thought dawned upon him. ‘Mum, will you tell him?’

His mother did not need any context to know what and who he meant. ‘Do you want me to tell him?’

Brian thought for a second. On the one hand it felt liberating to tell the truth, to tell his parents where he and John really stood – but on the other hand, after already having told them more than he had already planned to do and without John’s permission, he decided against the plan in the end. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to discuss it with John. It’s not something that concerns me only, you know.’

‘Of course. It’s not just you on your own anymore from now off,’ his mother said with a small smile. ‘It’s going to be you and your better half.’ Brian felt himself glow at the mentioning of these words. John really was his better half – and his mother was accepting of the position John played in his life. Maybe things were finally looking up for him. 

Things definitely seemed like they were heading in the right direction when the iron door burst open to reveal John, who skipped his way through the visiting room on his mission to find Brian. Brian heard and saw him coming from what seemed to him like miles away – he pushed his chair backward with more force than necessary, almost tripped over his mother’s bag, but did not let this stop himself from dashing towards John and catching his boyfriend into his embrace hallway down the room. When he squeezed John into a hug – and was similarly squeezed into one by John from the other side of things – his partner’s body felt warm and vibrant and alive; so much more alive than Brian had seen him in ages, or perhaps ever before. The grip of John’s fingers on the back of his grey uniform shirt was tight, like he wanted to avoid ever being separated from him in his life; as if Brian was going to allow anyone to come between the pair of them when John looked at him with the most appreciative and loving eyes he had ever been looked at with.

‘They’ll let me in,’ John squeaked in a voice squeezed with happiness and relief. ‘I’ll be allowed to stay and- and live with your family and- and with you.’ The arms around his back moved on to be placed above his shoulders, and Brian could not oppress the urge to put his own hands below John’s armpits and lift him off the floor for a spin. John squealed at first and then laughed, and when his feet were safely planted back on the floor, he threw his body against Brian’s so tightly that it took all of Brian’s strength to not lift up his chin and kiss him right there and then in the middle of the visiting room. He contained himself, though, and made a mental note to shower John in a thousand kisses once they’d get back to their room; a room which they might, with a bit of luck, exchange for Brian’s real bedroom, inside his real house before too long. 

‘Of course they will. I told you they were going to love you,’ Brian replied with the biggest smile. A side glance towards his smiling mother revealed that she really did approve of this statement of his.

Harold and Nolan caught up with them, and Nolan, obviously content and relieved with the turn-out of the meeting, was quick to produce the required paperwork that needed to be signed. Brian held his breath until the moment his father had put his signature on both the file ruling that he’d take his own son back in and on the file ensuring John would be placed under their care also. It was then that he knew there was going to be no return, a thought that made mellow happiness spread through his body as he rested his hand on John’s shoulder when his boyfriend signed the paperwork with a shaky but determined hand.

The formalities then having been taken care of and the time planned for the meeting being almost up, Nolan started shaking hands and speaking of next steps to be taken – financial compensation and guidance for family of what was clumsily referred to as ‘the mentally afflicted’ and other matters Brian could not find himself caring for at the time being. All he cared about was that they were one step closer to completing their plan of escaping Queen Mary’s before the place would turn either one or the both of them out of their minds, or possibly worse. 

Brian stepped forward to hug his dad and kiss his mum as a form of goodbye, and received some more words of comfort – that they would be there for his trial in a few weeks, and that John really would be welcome in their house regardless of how matters turned out for Brian. If Brian remained somewhat skeptical to that point, the last traces of doubt left his mind when he saw John willingly letting himself be captured in an embrace by both of his parents and receiving words of welcome, comfort, and encouragement. John managed little more than a series of ‘thank yous’ and ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am’,  but Brian could tell by the radiant look in his eyes when he broke away from his family-to-be that he was finally, after all this time, gathering some hope for the future – for their future.

‘We’ll see you soon, Brian. And you too, John. We’re looking forward to it,’ Brian’s mother said when Nolan turned to lead his patients out of the same door they had come from an hour ago. John turned around once more to flash them a smile, and give them a wave; Brian followed his example, then placed his hand on John’s back and guided him through the door.

‘Phew. That was a wild ride,’ said Nolan, who pretended to wipe the sweat off his forehead. The iron door fell shut behind him, and he started moving towards the exit at the other side of the hall. Brian and John followed close behind. ‘For a moment I was afraid that – you know…’ They all knew what it was that Nolan was referring to, but no one was particularly keep on speaking the words out loud. ‘But I’m glad they turned around, Brian. That whatever you said worked, and that John won’t have to worry anymore.’ John smiled for a bit, but Brian could tell it wasn’t genuine. 

‘What’s wrong? Aren’t you relieved?’

‘I am,’ John confirmed. ‘But I still worry. What if you don’t get out, or if your parents change their minds on me…’

‘They won’t,’ Brian said before the thought could properly settle in John’s mind. ‘They’re not going to change their minds. And as for me – I’m gonna give it all I’ve got during the final hearing or whatever they call that. And if that’s not enough, I’ll… I’ll find a way to be out of here as soon as possible, honey. I’ll show the best of behaviour and cooperation they’ve ever seen in the history of this place, or try another reassessment. I’ll find a way to leave, I promise.’ John looked skeptical still, but luckily Nolan came to Brian’s rescue. 

‘You won’t have to open a second reassessment. Jasper and Sarah and others are all on your side of the case – and with such strong support and all the effort and dedication you’ve shown in filling out the paperwork, attending sessions with the new psych, keeping up your mental diary your diary, and your exemplary behaviour at Queen Mary’s, there’s not a single objection I think they can make against your case. I can see no grounded reason for them to turn your appeal down.’

‘See?’ Brian said to John, pretending to be not in the least surprised by this claim of Nolan’s that his admission was almost a fact already. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘But Doctor Sumner will be there,’ John muttered. ‘He’ll find a way to let you stay.’

Having arrived at the other side of the hallway, Nolan held open the door for them; but Brian halted his step the second John brought up the name of Doctor Sumner.

‘Sorry, who are we speaking of?’ Nolan asked innocently. Brian was sure he must have read the name of his former psychiatrist in one of the papers concerning the trial, but how could Nolan know the evil intentions of the man behind the name?

‘Thank you, Nolan. We’ll see you in a bit,’ Brian said with what he knew for a fact was the fakest smile he’d ever produced. He could tell his mentor was confused by their sudden secretiveness, but – God bless him – he nodded politely and disappeared through the door. Brian waited until the door fell shut again before he looked John in the face.

‘You know Doctor Sumner is going to be there,’ John stated, more firmly this time.

‘I know,’ Brian gritted. ‘I just hoped you had forgotten about him.’

John snorted. ‘As if.’ 

‘Fair enough,’ Brian sighed. The truth of the matter was that Doctor Sumner had also crossed his mind more than just incidentally lately. Ever since Nolan had informed him of the fact that one was to be judged by a panel of three psychiatrists, one of which would be one’s former psychiatrist or another mental health expert who could testify to one’s character and mental illness, he had feared the possibility of Doctor Sumner disapproving of his being released out of fear he would speak up about the injustice his former psych had pulled him through. He had repressed these fears as much as he could, however, and had hoped that John would have forgotten about Doctor Sumner completely. It seemed like there was no such luck for him though; the handful of times he had brought up the nightmare of a psych during trips to Queen Mary’s garden had obviously stuck in John’s mind, and he himself remained unsure of his destiny with Doctor Sumner playing a role in it.

‘Look. I know the situation is hardly ideal, but Nolan is probably right. Sumner has no valid grounds to restrain me to Queen Mary’s without revealing his fear that he used me for his experiments to get his breakthrough in the medical world or whatever. And if he doesn’t remember so, I might just have to remind him of it.’

John’s ears seemed to prick up at the hint of such a bold thing to do. ‘You’re thinking of doing that?’

Brian, not wanting to admit that he devised this plan literally a split second ago, turned to open the door and let his lover pass through it. ‘Perhaps. If he leaves me no choice – if he’s the one to make me stay I guess I might have to bring it up. It’s not like I’ll have anything to lose in that case anyway,’ Brian grinned. ‘But I’m sure it won’t come to that point – as Nolan said, the judges have no valid grounds to keep me here for, so they’ll probably let me go. And if Sumner is the only one who disagrees… Well, I’ll just say it’s suspicious and ask him if there’s anything from our shared past that might hold him back, and leave the ball in his goal from that point.’

‘Stone cold but clever,’ John snickered. ‘You know, when you first got here, I never thought you’d have it in you to be like that.’

‘Your talents must have rubbed off on me,’ Brian shrugged.

‘My talents were not the only things that rubbed off on you.’

‘John!’ Brian called out in surprise, turning to the side to see his grinning lover catch up with him. ‘Cheeky! You did not get that from me!’

‘No, that must have been Freddie’s doing,’ John contemplated. ‘Having lived with him for a year or so has taken its toll on me.’

Brian stopped for a second. ‘Has it really been that long for Freddie?’

John nodded. ‘Same for Roger - he arrived only a month or so later, if not less. It’s kind of surreal when you think about it.’

‘It’s so weird - day to day life here passes so slowly, and yet in the grand scheme of things-’

‘May.’

Brian halted his sentence when he heard his last name being called out quite loudly in the otherwise empty seeming main hallway. It was early in the afternoon, and with no mealtimes, therapy groups, or other activities running - and a ban on residing in the canteen outside of meal hours out of a fear for fights and confrontation - there was little more than the occasional lone patient passing by.

‘Did you also hear…’ he turned to John, but was not given the time to await an answer.

‘Yes, you there. Brian.’

Brian could now no longer deny the presence of someone calling out for him, but it came as quite a shock to find that the source of the sound was no one other than Drew. Drew, the bully and murderer of Jimmy; the one who had threatened to cut his eye out, who had belittled and teased and pushed Freddie and Roger on multiple accounts, who had knocked John over and given him the biggest black eye Brian had ever witnessed - that Drew was now leaning against the matte glass wall of the canteen, with his arms crossed over his chest, a - strictly forbidden - toothpick between his lips, and for some reason a ground for calling Brian to him.

Brian could see John take a step back behind him, but then step forward again in what seemed like an attempt to show Drew that he was not going to back away. It made little impression on either one of them, for they all knew that despite the tough attitude John tried to keep up, and despite having stood up to Drew and having embarrassed him in front of all of his followers and enemies not too long ago, John did not feel comfortable around him. Hell, no one at Queen Mary’s felt comfortable around the brute of a guy; he was violent, unthinking, remorseless, and had shown on multiple occasions that he was capable of releasing the entire institution into chaos by planting his fists into the face of someone from the other side of things. Luckily he was on his own right now, but Brian nevertheless felt awkward and unsafe around him. Moreover, he could tell that John was feeling unsafe - and whatever Drew wanted from him, was not something he was going to burden John with. 

‘I’ll deal with this,’ he mumbled to the man standing beside him. ‘You can go to our room if you want to - I’ll catch up.’

‘No,’ John answered softly yet resolutely. ‘I’m not leaving you here.’ 

Brian was unsure whether he should be grateful for Jon’s determination to stay at his side or worried that whatever Drew wanted to get back at him for would now be shared with John also. But, like always seemed to be the case when anything happened for which he would like to be given time to think about and ponder the consequences, he was given absolutely no more than a split second before he had to act and speak up.

‘Brian May,’ Drew repeated his name. The look on his face was intense, as if he was trying to figure out Brian’s blood type with the help of nothing with his eyes. He remained exactly where he was and made no attempts at moving closer, as he was usually prone to do when trying to intimidate someone, but Brian still was not comfortable.

‘Drew Myers.’ Brian hoped the shiver in his voice wasn’t too audible - and that the last name he had picked up in the canteen a while back actually belonged to Drew. Drew at any rate did not comment on it being incorrect - in fact, he made no derogatory comments or showed otherwise unpleasant behaviour at all. 

‘Heard you’re going for a reassessment in a week,’ he said coolly. The little wooden toothpick between his lips switched to the other side of his mouth.

For a second Brian wanted to ask him how he got to possess this piece of information, but he realised soon enough that the news of the only successful attempt at leaving Queen Mary’s early must have spread like wildfire among its patients and staff. ‘You heard right,’ he therefore said just as coolly. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he crossed them in front of him in the same fashion as Drew did - which, he realised, must not have looked as cool on him and his 6’3, 130 pound body as it did on Drew’s be it somewhat shorter but a lot broader and more muscular one. Fortunately for him, Drew did not seem intended on calling him out today.

‘I’ll cross my thumbs for you. Hope you’ll get through.’

Brian was caught by surprise by this unexpectedly kind comment. He could feel John turning to look at him, but in his moment of surprise he could not unlock his eyes from Drew’s face. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Drew said without a hint of doubt. ‘You deserve better than this.’

‘Er, thanks,’ Brian uttered after having shared a short glance with John despite it all. ‘We’re, eh, hoping to leave and pick up our lives again.’ He did not know why he said this, why he tried to make conversation with someone who had basically threatened to take their lives on multiple accounts, and who had done worse besides that. But Drew didn’t show a sign of violence or malice now; he seemed calm and reasonable and perhaps even civil, and Brian found himself unable to treat Drew the exact same way in his place. 

‘As you should,’ Drew nodded. ‘You never did seem to belong here, you know. Neither did you, John.’ His hands unfolded to give a quick little point at John, who swallowed a little painfully but remained constant otherwise as Drew’s attention turned to him. ‘Way too good for a place like this. You two are better than the whole bunch of us together.’

Brian had never expected Drew to say something so kind to them.

He had also never expected that Drew saying something kind to them would simultaneously be the last thing they’d ever hear him say. A mere three days after their unexpected meetup, Drew was stabbed between the ribs with a kitchen knife one of his newly admitted rivals had acquired during a secret trip to the staff kitchen and dining room. Nolan and Derek had given CPR, an ambulance had been called, but Drew had, as the story went, been pronounced dead upon his arrival at the hospital.  

Another life wasted. 

All Brian could do was hope his case would indeed be approved, or else he feared that the name of the person he loved most in the entire world might soon also have to be added to the list of victims Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution had produced. 

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed - feel free to send me PMs or messages or anons about your opinions and suggestions for The Clinic, or just to come talk for a bit. I love and appreciate you all! <3

#the clinic #fanfic #queen fanfiction #breaky #brian may/john deacon

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of Marvel: Week of August 28th, 2019

Best of this Week: Spider-Man Life Story #6: The ‘10s - Chip Zdarsky, Mark Bagley, Drew Hennessy, Frank D’Armata and Travis Lanham

All good things must come to an end. That’s the main theme of this final issue of Chip Zdarsky and Mark Bagley’s phenomenal Life Story miniseries as it recounts the last adventure that Spider-Man goes on as he leaves the world free and safe in the capable hands of the new generation of superheroes.

Comic books are cyclical. For some heroes, you get a short run, 6-12 issues and then they disappear for years until they’re needed again for some big event. For the bigger heroes, there are ongoing series that last years upon years with some BIG changes that inevitably get reversed for the sake of reestablishing the status quo. It’s understandable, recognizable names draw big money, but there’s only so many times you can see a hero fight a particular villain before it becomes trite and meaningless.

The same goes for their daily lives as well. Peter Parker has been stuck as a meandering young adult for the better part of a decade since the events of One More Day and he hasn’t been allowed to grow past his immaturity, save for the few times when the situations have become desperate and dire. Spider-Man: Renew Your Vows tried to posit a family man Peter Parker in an alternate universe, but for the most part he came off as just regular Peter with a kid to banter off of. Nick Spencer and Tom Taylor are doing their best in their respective Spider-Man series to get Spider-Man back to a position where things actively change for him, but Chip Zdarsky has gone the extra mile.

The Spider-Man Life Story miniseries goes through Peter’s life if he actually aged with the decades that all of his comics took place in. He goes through the struggles of being an American citizen straddling the fence during Vietnam, the aftermath boiling to a superhuman civil war, a better Clone Saga of the 90s, Aunt May’s death, the start of the information age and finally having children and watching them grow up. Peter Parker is allowed to grow old, change with the times. He sees old friends die, new heroes emerge, give his take on current events of the time and it’s all been amazing.

I know I mentioned that fighting the same villains over and over can seem trite and meaningless, but that’s only when they’re done for the sake of being done. In this fantastic take on the Superior Spider-Man story, Peter and Otto have their absolute final confrontation with one another over the body and soul of the young Miles Morales. Peter and Miles are shot into space to stop some sort of satellite created by Doctor Doom that allowed him to fill the power vacuum left by Captain America and Iron Man’s Civil War. As the two explore, Peter is attacked by Kraven wearing the Venom symbiote, but he dispatches the villain easily and it’s revealed that the suit was just piloting a are skeleton.

Miles questions how it was possible and Peter replies that all of his old enemies are dead and rightfully accuses Miles of being Otto Octavius, Doctor Octopus. Otto reveals his scheme, but instead of fighting Pete physically, he chooses instead to go into the mindscape and have a battle of the intellect as they were always destined to do. 

Bagey pulls out all of his stops as he draws Spider-Man costumes from the various decades as well as beautifully illustrates some of the best of Spider-Man’s rogues gallery as they battle for supremacy. Set against a white background, the characters shine with their vibrant colors, dynamic posing and Bagley’s ever amazing facial expressions. I have never seen Otto look so menacingly mad and subsequently, once Peter defeats him, absolutely crushed. 

Using the only person that Peter knew Otto cared about, Aunt May, she’s able to convince Otto to let go of his hatred and rage. She tells him to let Miles live his life, to move on. I really felt this and inside, it feels like Zdarsky is also telling us that sometimes we have to let the status quo go. Spider-Man has been around for longer than some of us have been alive and will be long after most of us are gone. Do we really want him to be the same mid-20s to early 30s hero that we knew, or do we want to spend our time with someone new? Miles Morales is a little more than ten years old, he’s fairly young as a character and I wholeheartedly believe that he can carry on the Spider-Man name on his own.

As the satellite starts to collapse and there’s only one escape pod left, Peter chooses to save Miles and sacrifice himself so that the future can flourish in peace due to his heroism. It’s a true heroes death and something that we almost never see (and likely never will), but if this were a true moment of closure, then I would be happy with it. Peter Parker is known for having more guilt than a Catholic who hasn’t been to Mass for a month (or Daredevil) and as he finally closes his eyes for the final time, he has a nice conversation with Mary Jane and recounts his recurring dream of the day he truly learned about power and responsibility. The last panel is his guilt finally being washed away.

If there is one series I would recommend anyone read, hands down, without a doubt it would be this one. Chip Zdarsky has a strange yet beautiful understanding of how to tell a story with characters that some of us know better than our own family members. Mark Bagley has the art skills to make us care about them immensely as well. Putting these two together as well as their amazing inker in Andrew Hennessy and colorist in Frank D’Armata, they sell you on each decade presented and how Peter changes throughout. 

Spider-Man isn’t the same plucky youth we met in the 1960s. By the end of his story, he’s led a full life full of adventure and his time has been well spent making sure that it was a future worth living in. Isn’t that something that we all can only dream of?

---------------------------------------------------

God is Here.

Runner Up: Absolute Carnage #2 - Donny Cates, Ryan Stegman, JP Mayer, Frank Martin and Clayton Cowles

After the events of the last issue there aren’t enough words to describe just how hopeless things are looking for anyone who has ever worn a symbiote.

Spider-Man and venom have been backed into a corner by Carnage and his horde of infected inmates at the Ravencroft Asylum. With no other options Eddie decides it best to break out and punches a hole through the wall for a tactical retreat. Eddie is typically known for his ability to brute force his way through any problem, but Carnage is a new monster altogether and as he sees Spider-Man running out of energy, he gives into the fear that they might die.

In the past, the combined might of Spider-Man and Venom has been more than enough to combat Cletus Kasady. Even when Cletus had help, he still couldn't hold a candle to the heroes, but now, they're almost low tier by comparison.

Spider-Man notes that he's almost out of web fluid, so there's no way that they're swinging out of there, so Eddie and the Symbiote utilize one of their badass upgrades, spreads his wings and flies out of Ravencroft with Peter screaming frantically "WHATISGOINGONRIGHTNOWIHATEALLOFIT!" They then land on a roof in the city, defeated and horrified that they may not be able to stop Carnage this time.

Spider-Man says that he'll try to get a hold of Wolverine and Captain America and Eddie says that he'll go find any of the lowlifes that have been Symbiotes and the two split to complete their missions. Carnage chooses not to follow after them, instead he waits and plots. This issue then turns into a bit of a catch up game for the other tie in issues while Carnage gloats to Norman that everything is running smoothly and that the world will be painted red soon enough.

Ryan Stegman absolutely smashes the art in this issue with absolutely killer detail, expressions of fear and disgusting visuals, especially in Carnage's underground lair - The sprawling mass of symbiotic flesh that covers New York's sewage system, packed full of infected humans is a dreadful sight. In the beginning of the issue, Stegman drew a splash page of Carnage with other panels overlaid, showing one of his eyes of madness and the decayed flesh that's absolutely under the symbiote. It's an absolutely terrifying sight that set the tone of this horror show.

Not only were these shots great, but Stegman kills one of the moments that happens in the Miles Morales tie-in where Miles and Scorpion (Mac Gargan) fight off the infected hordes trying to take Gargan's spine. In the tie-in, the art is more subdued and less violent, but here, Stegman turns it into something to get squeamish over. Gargan tries to abandon Miles to fight the infected alone, but is thrown back into the fight by Venom.

Unfortunately, Carnage is there waiting to pounce. He plunges a tendril into Mac's back and DIGS around to get that spine. There's no need to leave anything to the imagination as the blood spurts out, Gargan screams in agony and Kasady looks like he's having the goddamned time of his life. Mayer and Martin's colors and inks really sell just how violent all of this is. It's almost gross just how close they get the color right and how dark the scene is. Miles swoops in to save him, but… no good deed goes unpunished.

Absolute Carnage absolutely does what it set out to do. I have never been more afraid for the Marvel Universe than I am right now. Of course, there have been universal threats, but with how close and personal this feels and the looming feeling of dread knowing that Knull is THIS close to returning is mortifying. Normally a villain will just kill a hero or destroy them and whatnot, but Carnage wants nothing but massacre. If there's not torture and blood then what is it all worth?

Everything that Cates and Stegman have been building to has lead us here. To say that it's beginning to lay off would be an understatement. The dividends of fear are fore more exponential than anyone could have anticipated and this will likely go down as one of the greatest Venom/Carnage stories ever written. Absolute High Recommend.

#spiderman #spider man life story #chip zdarsky #mark bagley #miles morales #otto octavius #peter parker #absolute carnage #carnage #venom #cletus kasady #eddie brock #horror #body horror #cult of carnage #comics #marvel #marvel comics #donny cates #ryan stegman

[mental-health-advice]

Submission about health issues and hiding pain

I pose this brave persona in front of people when they ask me how I deal with my health (I have a lot of health issues ranging from bad bone structure which could lead to paralysis to breast tumors) so positively, and while being so young (18). I joke about it a lot I say I don’t feel any pain, and thay I’m fine, but, when no one is around, when I’m about to go to sleep, the pain becomes unbearable, and I cry, and I let myself be scared for myself, I worry myself to sleep. And the next morning, I smile, joke about my health issues and continue to tell people I’m doing just fine, great even, because God forbid I complain while being so young, because what do I have to complain of?

Hi there,

I’m so sorry that you’ve had to put up with this! I know from experience, since I’m young and have had health issues all my life, that it’s not easy living in a world where young people are “supposed” to be healthy and happy. I hope I can give you a little advice that you’ll find helpful.

One thing I’ve learned over time is that as a chronically ill and disabled young person, it’s not my job on this earth to make healthy and able-bodied people comfortable. Keeping quiet and hiding the physical pain I’m in only makes me feel worse, physically and mentally. It doesn’t feel great to worry others by telling them how I’m actually feeling, but that’s typically better than the alternative, which is to suffer alone. Although telling people how I’m truly feeling might make them uncomfortable because they expect me to be healthy since I’m only in my 20s, I’ve had to learn that it’s okay to take up space and exist as a chronically ill and disabled person. Plus, if someone our age is sick or has a temporary injury, they usually aren’t told to be quiet and suffer alone, so why should I have to just because I’m permanently sick and disabled?

Of course, being loud and proud about what you’re struggling with is easier said than done, mostly because people tend to look at us and assume that we have nothing to complain about just because we’re young. Sometimes, though, we have to just speak up anyway for the sake of our sanity and make people understand that our struggles are valid regardless of our age. We shouldn’t have to be a spokesperson for all sick and disabled young people, but unfortunately this is often the case. I’ve had to recognize that, if there are people in my life who can’t handle the true version of myself that happens to be sick and disabled, they don’t deserve to be in my life.

With all of this being said, it might be helpful to be honest about how you’re feeling with the people in your life. Remember that it’s not your job to make sure the people around you are comfortable with your pain. It’s okay to be honest when someone asks how you’re feeling because you deserve to feel supported! You might also find it helpful to find people with similar conditions as you, as having a community of people who understand what you’re going through can be extremely helpful. For example, I’ve found a Facebook group with over 15,000 people with the same disability as me and it has been very helpful in feeling less alone. Finally, if possible, you might find it helpful to find a therapist. Therapy also reduces that sense of being alone in this because that’s someone you can always be honest. If you’d like information about seeking professional help, you can take a look at this page.

I’m not sure if this is exactly what you were looking for, but hopefully this is still helpful to you in some way. Take care!

-Samantha

#chronic illness #disability #health problems #getting help #advice #advice blog #mental health advice #mhasamantha